


Appetite

by Not_You



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst, Aprons, Babies, Ballroom Dancing, Biting, Blindfolds, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs With Teeth, Cannibalism Play, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Carrying, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles is a Teacher, Chess, Clones, Consensual Kink, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Bottom, Emma Frost HBIC, Emma cockblocks but with good reason, Emma wishes she could still get wasted at brunch, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epilogue, Erik has Feelings, Erik is a Shark, Erik is getting into this ogre thing, Erik's parents are deeeeeeaad!, Finger Sucking, Friendship, Frottage, Gallows Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, Gloves, High-Risk Pregnancy, Horns, Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, Leather Kink, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Medical Experimentation, Nightmares, Online Dating, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, POV Outsider, Past Murder, Platonic Cuddling, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Scratching, Sleepy/Unconscious Sex, Strength Kink, Switching, Teeth, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unethical Medicine, Verbal Bondage, Weird Fluff, Weirdness, alex means well, erik feels weird about being a fantasy cannibal, just a little bit of kink shame that's really more kink shyness, kissing and telling (a little), only with being eaten, past Emma/Erik for procreative purposes, perceived domestic violence, reference to hate crimes, that just makes it sound like there's so much of it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 36,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has peculiar appetites, a new boy who's positively edible, and a friend who's having a very stressful year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Аппетит](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623610) by [Serafima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serafima/pseuds/Serafima)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [祝你有个好胃口](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4255404) by [pfcookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfcookie/pseuds/pfcookie)



Erik isn't actually expecting anyone to answer his ad. He had name-dropped Armin Meiwes in the text for fuck's sake, and had only even posted to get Emma to stop nagging him to find a nice boy. She always knows when he's lying, and now he'll actually be able to say that he put up a personal ad. On a fetish site, even, since Emma knows full well that Erik is a massive freak, and would consider a more typical dating site as not counting.

And yet, here he is in his bathrobe, staring at this inbox and willing himself to just open the damn message. He may or may not be trembling faintly, but at last he takes a deep breath and a long swig of black coffee, and clicks.

_Hi! I've been looking for someone to share a cannibalism fantasy for ages, and you sound like you'd be serious enough for me without being an actual psychopathic killer. If you are, I'll be very disappointed._

_Details: My name is Charles, I'm a dual British-American citizen, I've just got my doctorate and I promise not to tell you about it unless you ask, I like playing chess, and dancing. But only ballroom, because I'm terrible at all the other kinds._

_I of course have pictures if you're interested._

Because Erik also likes chess and ballroom and knows Emma Frost, he has a moment of skin-crawling paranoia where he wonders if this entire thing is some kind of cruel joke. Erik may be a sick fuck, but he does have feelings. A few deep breaths, and it passes. Even Emma wouldn't do this to him, and so he sends a reply, determined not to think about it too much.

_Charles: The thing about being a killer is that it puts limits on the amount of time one can spend with a nice boy. We share at least two hobbies (besides the most obvious) and I'm interested in the pictures and the doctorate as well. What field are you in?_

Erik refuses to think about it through his workday. He is thorough and focused and, he realizes as they bolt out at the end of the day, terrifying to the interns. He has bigger problems than cowardice in the junior staff, however, and gets home as quickly as possible to check his personal email in real privacy. Well, NSA privacy, but if they haven't come for him yet they probably won't start now.

And there it is, right at the top of his inbox. He clicks the message and shivers at the sight of three attached jpegs.

_Well, now you've done it. I study genetics and have a hard time shutting up about it. I'm particularly interested in the various mutations that have given rise to the present diversity of humanity, and in sequencing the genome of pretty much anything, because there's so much to learn._

_Anyway, I have attached three photos of varying degrees of work-safeness. I'd appreciate a few in return. Honestly, if you'll oblige a fellow pervert, I'd really like to see your teeth. I have a thing about it._

_Have a lovely day, and I hope you enjoy the images._

The attachments are named whatilooklike, shirtless, and tastefulnude. Erik goes through them in that order. The first is Charles standing by a tree on what looks like a university campus. He's wearing a tweed jacket and grinning, his face looking foolish and sweet and very beautiful. It's hard to see the color of his eyes, but his mouth is obscenely red and his hair is deep brown and curly. His tie is tugged down and his hands are in his coat pockets. It looks like one of those deceptive early spring days that's brighter than it is warm, and Erik wonders if this is the day of the doctorate.

The next one is, obviously enough, Charles with his shirt off. He's inside somewhere (his home?) sitting on a carpted floor in a beam of sunlight coming in through a picture window and looking like someone just made him laugh. He's slight but not really delicate, with fine bones and enough muscle to take seriously. There's a bit of extra at his midsection and Erik has a sudden and profoundly visceral urge to test its softness with his teeth. He shivers, and wonders if Charles's eyes are really that blue.

The last file actually is tasteful. Between not featuring his car in the outdoor shot and not jamming his dick into the camera for the nude one, Erik might already be a little bit in love. He's definitely head-over-heels in lust. He sits there and drools over the images for at least half an hour before finally marshalling his resources enough to reply.

_Gorgeous and intelligent, I see. I enjoy these images very much, and will send you a few of my own as soon as I take them._

Erik has never really enjoyed swapping images before, but then again, he has never traded with an adorable fantasy victim. Erik already has a decent picture of himself that Emma took at the last company picnic. He's scowling, but it's a company picnic, surely Charles won't take it personally.

For the other shots he has to dig out his digital camera. It has a timing mechanism, and he captures his own hopefully-tasteful nude with it before taking a extreme close-up of the grin people have called 'shark-like.' He isn't sure about any of these, but he lacks the patience to do better or endure Emma's mockery as she helps.

 _Images as promised._ Is all he says, attaching whateriklookslike, tastefulnude, and teeth, sending the message before he can lose his nerve.

The next day he checks his email before going to work, and doesn't know whether to feel more blessed or cursed, because there's a response from Charles waiting for him. He rubs his eyes, takes a long and heartening swig of coffee, and opens it.

 _So, is it too soon to say that I wanked to the one of your teeth? Because I absolutely wanked to the one of your teeth. God, they're_ beautiful _. And so are you. It's like I dreamed the perfect predator into being._

_I think we should meet._

Erik shudders, eyes wide. Charles wants to meet. He might actually get to sink his teeth into that flawless skin and run his knives over it.

_Yes. In public, of course. I'm the 9-5 type, so Saturday is good for me._


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday turns out to be good for Charles as well, and Erik gets up on Saturday feeling like he used to on the first day of summer vacation. He goes through entirely too many outfits before putting on jeans, a turtleneck, and boots. It's the right weight for the weather and doesn't look frumpy or desperate. He calls Azazel to make sure, and feels about fifteen years old when his friend laughs and assures him that he looks fine.

“And who are you going to meet?” he purrs, grinning evilly. “Some nice boy you've foolishly neglected to tell me about?”

“I'll tell you if anything comes of it, Az. So far we've traded pictures.”

“Ooh, pictures...”

“Goodbye, Az. I'll tell you more later.” Erik hangs up, pockets his phone, and boldly and dynamically leaves the house. On days like this it takes a lot of effort. Erik's friends always tell him he's too good-looking to worry. All of them but Azazel and Emma, who have at least some idea of the twisted shit Erik likes. He takes a cab to the coffeeshop Charles suggested and orders enough black coffee to swim in, sipping it as he waits impatiently despite being fifteen minutes early. When twenty-five minutes go by he starts to devise various horrible deaths for Emma for giving him false hope like this, and at half an hour he's sipping the dregs of his coffee with hate in his eyes.

And then Charles comes through the door, wind-blown and harried and _beautiful_. He looks around frantically, and then beams at the sight of Erik. “Oh, thank god!” He comes charging over, briefcase and bookbag in hand, his tweed jacket slung over one arm, tie askew. “So sorry I'm late!” He flings himself into the chair opposite Erik, grinning at him.

“I'm just glad not to be stood up.”

“As if I would ever.” Charles sets his bags down as if he hasn't just said the most devastating thing ever, and blasts Erik with another guileless smile. “I got held up discussing a student's thesis.”

“So, were you some sort of child prodigy?”

“I did get to college very early, yes. I also learned how to do laundry and make my own tea on the way, which is more than I can say for some people. Speaking of which, I'll just go order some if you can stand another minute.”

Erik chuckles. “Just so long as you're here.” Charles actually blushes at that, and skitters away to order. Erik watches him, and it isn't long before Charles returns with a handled goblet full of milky tea.

“Earl Grey is my favorite,” he explains, gently blowing on it.

“When I'm actually thinking about it, I like a mocha, but today I just wanted the caffeine. I've spent a lot of this time telling myself not to be paranoid.”

“About what?”

“About you being fabricated for a prank.”

“...What?”

Erik scowls because he can feel himself blushing. “We share hobbies, we share one major kink, and you are _pointlessly_ attractive.”

“Are your friends really that bad?”

“Not even Emma, usually, you're just a bit... perfect for my needs. So far, anyway.”

“We'll have to see about the rest, but at least now you know I exist.”

They spend the next hour and a half talking about all the usual things. Work, books they've read, general biographical information, favorite films (and of course Charles likes 'Spirited Away' and 'Coraline' as well as ''The Bicycle Thieves,') and politics. They agree enough to respect each other, but disagree enough to argue about the death penalty for the last thirty minutes or so. They simultaneously realize how long it has been, and swig the last of their now-cold drinks, feeling like a pair of teenagers.

“So...” Charles says.

“...I have nothing else to do today,” Erik admits, and wonders if it's too soon to invite Charles home. Because he's sick of this coffee shop, but fascinated with present company.

“Neither do I.” Charles blushes again.

“Come back to mine for lunch,” Erik says, and then stops, realizing what that sounds like in the context of their shared fantasy.

Charles bursts out laughing. “Vegetarian lunch?”

“Positively vegan,” Erik says, and Charles chuckles.

“Just let me step out and make my safety call,” he says, and Erik nods, because the fastest way to drive an online acquaintance away is to resent their efforts to not be murdered. He can see Charles through the window, looking animated and a little exasperated, clearly assuring the person on the other end of his lime green phone that he'll call again at the designated time. At last he comes back in and collects his things.

“I got here by bus. You?”

“Cab,” Erik says, and hails one as they step onto the sidewalk. “So, who's your contact?” he asks on the ride home.

“My sister. I don't really have anyone else.”

“Ah. I'll be calling a friend of mine when we get there.”

“Smart dom,” Charles murmurs too low for the driver to hear, and Erik shivers.

“Thanks.”

It's a relief to just pay the driver and escape, and Erik sternly reminds himself that he is not a teenager and that he's actually going to cook lunch for Charles and not just ravish him. He leads the way up the steps and into the house. It's small, but it's private and all his. Charles looks around at the high ceilings and the hardwood floors and looks delighted. Erik can't help but be a little vain of the house, having done most of the work on it himself.

“This place is gorgeous, Erik,” Charles says, hanging up his jacket and setting his bags below it.

“Thank you. There was this godawful shag carpeting when I moved in, and when I stripped it I found that the floors were good enough to just sand and lacquer.”

“Did you do them yourself?”

“I did. I've done a lot to this house, and I'll talk your ear off about it if you let me.”

“Something else we have in common. So, are we really having a vegetarian lunch?”

“If you want to. I've got tofu.”

“Oh, are we planning the menu on the fly? I don't think I'm actually capable of that.”

Erik laughs, and gestures for him to sit down. “Don't worry, I am.”

Charles sits at the kitchen table and makes an appreciative and decorative audience for Erik's performance, his chin cupped in his hands and his blue eyes sparkling.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik does end up cooking the tofu, because eating meat does things to him sometimes. Charles enjoys his vegetarian stir-fry very much, and chatters away about genetics as he devours two big helpings. Erik tries not to watch too closely, or think too much about Charles being plump and well-fed on rice and vegetables, which would make his flesh sweet.

“...Are you thinking about eating me?” Charles purrs.

Erik jumps and feels himself blushing. “No! ...Yes. Yes, I totally am.”

“Good,” Charles says, and Erik shudders. And then remembers that he has forgotten to call Emma, excusing himself and doing so from the hallway, feeling panicky and high and infatuated. She doesn't answer for so long that he's annoyed, but then she does, and sounds so worried he feels bad.

“Erik! Thank god. I had to find a place to pull over.”

“...To pull over?”

“I'm on my way over there, since you missed your time.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. I just really like him and lost track.”

“...You owe me, Lensherr. Do you know what this kind of stress does to my skin?”

“Sorry, Frost.”

“Is he cute?”

“Extremely.”

“Does he have the sense to have a safety call?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. I'll visit Az and then come by for the post-mortem.”

“You're a goddess, Emma.”

“I know,” she says, and hangs up. Erik chuckles and pockets his phone, going back to Charles.

“Everything all right?”

“She was on her way over here, bless her heart.”

“I'm sorry about her wasted time, but I'm glad she cares,” Charles says, and Erik chuckles.

“She'll only admit it under duress. We've known each other for a thousand years. She's like my sister.”

He grins. “Raven _is_ my sister. We adopted each other when we were seven.”

“Oh?” Erik clears the table in a few quick movements, running water over the dishes so they'll be easier to deal with later.

“Yes. She was homeless and I was emotionally neglected, so we figured we'd pool our resources.”

“I see. Drink?”

“Please.”

Erik breaks out the good stuff for his guest, and they sit and sip brandy by a little fire, because it has been a cold and rainy spring so far. Charles beams in delight when Erik lights the fire, and stars into the coals as he tells Erik all about Raven's unorthodox adoption. Erik reads between the lines about the physically present and emotionally absent mother, and the all too present stepfather and brother. By the end of the story Charles is cuddled up under Erik's arm, that curly head resting on his chest.

“We look out for each other,” Charles says, and Erik nods.

“I met Emma right after something terrible happened. She was the only person who wouldn't put up with my shit.”

“Oh.” Charles looks up, big blue eyes full of concern, and Erik finds himself penciling in a few details, something he never does on the first date.

“My parents died violently. I was only about thirteen.”

“Jesus, Erik...” He touches Eriks' face, and Erik sighs and leans into it.

“I was like a tiger with a full set of bad teeth, and Emma was the only person who wasn't too busy pitying me to point out that no matter how much pain you're in, some things aren't acceptable.” He chuckles. “She's a psychologist now.”

“A good one, I take it.”

“That's what they say.” He kisses Charles's hand, nuzzling the smooth skin and feeling bizarrely comfortable. The silence stretches out between them, and Charles shivers.

“Uh, not to be the stereotypical bisexual male, but do you want to fool around?”

Erik chuckles. “Absolutely.”

“No sceneing, though,” Charles says as he slides into Erik's lap. “I don't do that on the first date.”

“Neither do I,” Erik says, and kisses him. Charles's mouth is just as soft as it looks, and Erik groans softly, licking his way inside as Charles whimpers happily and snuggles closer. For all his darker desires, Erik likes this kind of thing. He likes to just hold someone in his arms and kiss them for a lovely eternity as the fire burns lower and lower. His hands lazily explore Charles, squeezing that round ass and making Charles squeak and jump in the most adorably prey-like way. Erik chuckles and Charles moans, grinding slowly on Erik's thigh. Erik helps him move and Charles mewls, pulling back enough to look into Erik's eyes.

“Bedroom, perhaps?”

“Yes,” Erik growls, and scoops him up. It's the kind of caveman move that has caused dates to end badly in the past, but Charles just yelps in surprise, clings, and then relaxes, trusting Erik with his weight. “Sorry,” Erik murmurs, carrying him to the bedroom and nuzzling the defenseless side of his neck as he does.

“God, don't apologize,” Charles says, voice a little shaky.

“Okay,” Erik purrs, “I won't.” He shifts Charles enough to open the door, and then deposits his guest on his bed, glad that he changed the sheets just in case. Charles grins up at him. “You should take off your shirt.”

“You're right,” Erik says. “I should.” He peels off his turtleneck and tosses it to Charles, who catches it and actually sniffs the thing, turning Erik from playful to desperate in a moment. He swarms over Charles, pushing him onto his back and devouring his mouth, all teeth and tongue and hunger. And Charles lets him. He just gives up, elegantly and effortlessly, spread out for Erik to consume. He's sweet and responsive and makes the most delicious little noises when Erik wrestles his shirt off and covers his neck and shoulders in hard bites. When Erik finally has Charles naked and can take him into his mouth, he watches Charles's face and makes sure to flash his teeth just a bit. When Charles comes, Erik slides down far enough to kiss the base of him, and gently presses with his teeth, turning Charles's deep groan into a soft squeal.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, British accent clearly in evidence, just as Erik is sure his own diction must be becoming more and more German. “Oh fuck, _Erik_...” Erik chuckles, and then growls when Charles jerks him up by his hair to kiss him. He likes having his hair pulled, and he likes the way Charles flips him onto his back and takes over, winking as he swallows Erik down.


	4. Chapter 4

“So,” Charles murmurs, tracing abstract designs on Erik's chest with one forefinger, his head resting on Erik's shoulder, “how did the whole cannibal thing start for you?”

“Mm. I don't know. But when I was in high school, I sucked off this beautiful boy from the swim team. And at the end I didn't want it to be over. I wanted...” he sighs, and laughs at himself. “I wanted to bite it off, so I could keep it. Gave him a little of my teeth, and he didn't take it as well as you.”

“Oh dear.”

“I wasn't very rough with him, he was just slightly alarmed. He let me blow him again, but only on condition of no teeth. It was hard. I always want the same thing.”

Charles shudders. “Oh.”

“What about you?” Erik nuzzles into Charles's tousled hair, and he chuckles.

“I saw some cheesy old exploitation film when I was small. Something about funerary cannibalism in some distant tribe, maybe the Fore.” He shrugs, nuzzling the hollow of Erik's throat. “Anyway, I was just taken with the idea. Of being so wanted that someone would actually ingest you, would take you inside of themselves like that.”

Erik shivers. “Yes.”

“How do you like it best?”

“It varies, but usually I like a willing victim. I like for it to be tender, and... respectful. The way some hunting tribes thank prey animals when they kill them.” Charles nods, and Erik continues. “I like to go slow. I like knives and sensory deprivation and all the butchers' gear.” Charles shudders, and Erik lightly bites the shell of his ear. “But I've also played with a girl who wanted to be chased down and overpowered, and that was... exciting.”

Charles shivers. “I'll bet. I've done some of that myself. On the other end, I mean. Lord, you really would be good for that, wouldn't you?” He squeezes Erik's arm, and Erik can't help but flex, which makes Charles grin.

“What about you?”

“I like being a willing victim,” he says, still slowly stroking Erik's arm. “And I love blood capsules.” He kisses Erik's neck and sits up, stretching his arms over his head. “I like real bloodplay too, but I know how unsafe it is and try to limit my risk and the actual amount of blood and so on.” He speaks with the slightly sing-song cadence of someone who has had to tell himself and partners this same thing over and over. Erik knows the feeling. “But when we're pretending to cut my throat I want a decent amount of warmed stage blood,” Charles says. “I have a thing about it.”

“A thing like your thing about my teeth?” Erik says, and Charles smiles down at him.

“Yeah.”

“'I've mostly used the little capsules,” Erik says, pulling Charles down again, “but I think I like this idea.”

Charles grins. “Are we going to be on a tarp in the living room?”

Erik bites Charles's shoulder, mumbling, “No. I have a room.”

“R-really?” Charles gasps.

“Butcher's hook and all,” Erik assures him, licking and then biting again.

“Oh, Jesus.” Charles shudders all over, voice thin and shocked.

“Too much?” Erik murmurs, both hands on Charles's ass as he nuzzles the edge of Charles's ear, making him gasp again.

“No, no, that was a good shudder.”

Erik growls before he can help himself, and bites hard, just below the hinge of his jaw. “Wonderful.”

Charles laughs breathlessly, gripping Erik's hair and pulling just a little. “How do you feel about cooking?”

“You mean cooking animal meat and pretending that it's you?” He bites Charles's shoulder hard, almost hard enough to break the skin, and Charles bucks in his arms, cock hard and wet against Erik's thigh.

“Uh, yeah. Ohfuck.”

Erik chuckles, licking the deep purple mark. “I do a lot of that.” He bites Charles again, gripping and kneading that firm ass. “I like to cook,” he says, fingers dipping into the cleft and rubbing lightly at Charles's hole, moving with him as he whines and ruts against Erik's thigh. “And I was raised eating kosher, so there's this whole transgressive thrill to pork.'

“I s-see,” Charles gasps, and presses his face to Erik's shoulder. “Oh fuck, _Erik_...”

Erik chuckles, lining up to grind on Charles's thigh and hissing softly at the intensity. “Not freaking you out?”

“Not... oh... not a bit.” He moans, pushing back against Erik's fingertip and then mewling as Erik increases the pressure, rocking faster. “I'm glad... I'm n-not freaking _you_ out. Oh...”

Neither of them say much after that, kissing and biting and finally coming, Charles first, with a loud and helpless cry that seems to pull Erik's climax out of him. Erik sinks his teeth into Charles's flesh, muffling a loud groan. In the quiet afterward they catch their breath, and Erik chuckles. “Charles, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Charles laughs, and nips at Erik's jaw. “Definitely. ...Flip a coin for the first shower?”

“You're my guest, you go first,” Erik says, and Charles kisses him softly, getting up and availing himself of the facilities while Erik strips the bed because the sheets are a hopeless mess. He has the bed remade by the time Charles comes out, sleek and wet and just unspeakably cute. He laughs when Erik tells him so, and kisses him.

“I didn't use up all the hot water, I swear.”

“Even if you had, I'd forgive you,” Erik coos, and goes to clean himself up, emerging with a towel around his waist. Charles is gone, but Erik can hear movement in the kitchen, and smells one of the cans of potato soup he keeps for low-effort days.

“I could make you something better,” he says, coming up behind Charles as he stirs the soup.

“I don't doubt it, but sex makes me hungry and I'd rather not wait. Would you like some?”

Erik would, and reflects that for something canned the soup really is pretty good. But anything would be good right now, sitting in the kitchen in nothing but a towel with a similarly-clad Charles Xavier. He smiles like he's thinking the same thing.

“Oh!” He startles. “I was supposed to call my sister again!”

“Well, don't make her worry more than she already has,” Erik says, and Charles laughs, going to find his phone.


	5. Chapter 5

“Raven?” Charles says, sitting on the couch again. “Hi, love. Yes, everything has gone quite well. No, I'm not staying the night, that would be far too much bother.”

Erik wants to argue that point, but is aware that it would probably make him look desperate. Instead he lurks in the kitchen as Charles arranges for his sister to come pick him up. Erik is feeling deeply shy about meeting her, but Charles assures him that all his sister knows for sure is that Charles doesn't use vanilla dating sites.

“That's all she wants to know, honestly,” he says as he gets dressed again, and Erik laughs.

“Smart girl.”

“Are you bi, or gay? I need to know if I might be over-shadowed. She's very pretty.”

“Bi, but you're the prettiest,” Erik growls, coming up behind Charles to nibble his ear. Charles is still shirtless, and Erik never wants him to find the rest of his clothes. He tells him so, nuzzling his neck. “I forbid you to ever cover more than fifty percent of yourself at a time,” he growls, and then hopes that Charles realizes he's joking. Apparently so, because Charles laughs, turning in his arms to kiss him.

“Such a cruel master. What about when it's chilly?” He twines his arms around Erik's neck and gives him an impressive pair of puppy eyes.

“Then I'll keep you warm,” Erik says, and demonstrates his technique for a while before Charles insists on pulling away and putting on the rest of his clothes. Even the tweed blazer, and Erik makes a pitiful noise when it goes on that makes Charles laugh, the heartless bastard.

“How about I stay naked for the entirety of my next visit?” He coos. “Would that make you feel better?”

“...You are an evil, evil boy, Charles.”

“So I've been told.” He kisses Erik, soft and lingering. “Now put on a shirt like a civilized person so you can meet my sister.”

No sooner has Erik hauled his turtleneck back on than the doorbell rings. He goes to answer it and finds another thing he and Charles have in common: both of them are very close with a fierce, forward, and very beautiful blonde woman. This one is much more natural-looking than Emma, her hair long and honey-colored and her whole aspect hippie-flavored.

“Hi! You must be Erik.”

“I am. Raven, I presume?”

“Yeah. Hey, Charles! Here to ruin everything!”

Charles laughs and hugs his sister, his chestnut curls a pretty contrast with her gold waves. “You ruin nothing. You are an orament to the universe.”

“Wow, Erik, you must be a really great lay.”

“Raven!” Charles squawks, and Erik throws back his head and laughs.

“Always glad to be of service.”

Raven looks him up and down, raising one eyebrow. “I'll bet.”

“Thank you for a wonderful afternoon and evening, Erik, I will absolutely call you tomorrow, and Raven, let's go!” Charles drags her out and Erik laughs again, too amused even to mind missing the chance for a kiss goodbye. He washes the soup bowls and the saucepan Charles used to heat it, and is just drying his hands when his own phone rings. It's Emma, and he smiles, answering.

“Yes, Emma?”

“You sound like you got laid.”

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but I sound like I got laid because I did. Still coming over?”

“Bringing Azazel.”

“Wonderful, I'll bring out the good brandy and put another few sticks on the fire.”

“Always such a gracious host, Erik.”

He thanks her and hangs up, making sure to have the fire at optimum levels and three of the good snifters his mother left him waiting on the table by the time Emma's car pulls up. Azazel prefers to drive, but Emma is a control freak with an extremely nice car. The two of them come up the walk looking like something out an old movie, Emma wrapped in white fur against the chill of the evening, Azazel in his usual unrelieved black. Erik welcomes them in and takes Emma's coat, getting his friends settled and pouring for everyone before settling between them on the couch with his own glass cradled in his palm.

“So?” Emma says, after they've all taken a moment to swirl and scent and sip.

“So I might be in love,” Erik says, and Azazel laughs.

“Wonderful. Do you have a picture to share with the rest of the class?”

“Actually, yes. One of the things I like about him is that he started out fully clothed.”

“Oh, how nice,” Emma says.

“He also managed to be tastefully nude, but I'm too well-mannered and too greedy to share that.” He finds whatilooklike on his phone, and shows it to his friends, who lean in to look.

“How pretty,” Azazel says, in that insinuating way that makes every word that comes out of his mouth sound dirty.

“The boy has a lovely face,” Emma agrees, “even if he does dress like a churchmouse.”

“Emma, not all of us can have your fashion sense,” Erik says. “Besides, it's cute.”

“Erik, you don't think anything is cute.”

“Kittens and Charles,” Erik corrects her, and takes a long drink, savoring it.

“So,” Emma says, after doing the same, “does he really understand?”

“I mentioned the room in the basement to him. He likes the idea.”

“Well, well, well,” Azazel says, glass empty already because he's a lush.

“Precisely,” Erik tells him, pouring him some more.

“What does the boy do?” Emma asks, still studying the picture.

“I think he dresses like a professor because he actually is one. Newly-minted in genetics, apparently.”

“Ah. Well, if he's clever, pretty, and freaky, you ought to keep him.” After sufficient cajoling Erik shows them shirtless, but he's keeping tastefulnude for himself no matter what. “Ooh,” Emma purrs, “even a little extra. I know how much you love having something to sink your teeth into.”

Azazel laughs. “You know too much.”

“So it has been said,” she agrees, and Erik puts away his phone and demands a change of topic.

“And nothing about your efforts to get knocked up,” he says, before she can start. Like many women trying to have a baby by means other than a man everyone knows she's fucking anyway, Emma will go on and on about the process.

“Pig,” she says, with no real heat because nothing has changed, and Erik is always willing to listen when something has.

“Oink,” Azazel agrees, and Emma laughs.


	6. Chapter 6

Charles actually does call the next day, catching Erik in the middle of the kind of leisurely Sunday breakfast that makes Emma predict his death of a heart attack before the age of forty. Erik grumbles and has to look around for the source of the lounge version of 'Eat Me, Drink Me' that Emma has put on his phone, trusting with damnably justified complacency to Erik's inability to change it. At last he comes to the little end table where he left the thing, and feels much better about the whole struggle when he sees that it's Charles.

Erik flips the phone open as he makes his way back to the kitchen. “Yes?”

“Hello, Erik. How are you this fine morning?” Charles sounds bright and happy and just a little bit nervous.

“Better for having heard from you,” Erik says, wanting to soothe him. He settles back into his chair, nibbling on a strip of bacon. “Yourself?”

“Fine.” Charles hesitates. “Erik?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything planned for today?”

“No, but I could.”

“...Okay,” Charles says in the very steady voice of someone who doesn't want to sound shaky or breathy. “Um, you know how I said I don't scene on the first date?”

“If you came over, it would be the second.”

Charles laughs, sounding both shaky _and_ breathy. “Wonderful. Face-to-face negotiation?”

“I prefer it. When do you want to come by?”

There's a long, shy silence. “...Is now bad?”

“Now is perfect.”

Erik can hear Charles's smile when he replies. “I'll be there in half an hour.”

Erik assures Charles that he'll be waiting, and hangs up. He makes himself finish his breakfast, and uses every ounce of will not to fuss too much. He cleans the kitchen and replaces his ragged bathrobe with clothes, of course, but he doesn't let himself do anything else, and is on the couch reading when Charles rings the bell. Erik flings Frankenstein aside, having chosen it because he almost knows it by heart and can abandon it at any time, and goes to let his precious prey in, heart pounding.

“Hi!” Charles beams up at him, flushed and adorable. Erik smiles, and pulls him inside, pressing him back against the closed door and kissing him deep and rough and slow. This is more caveman behavior, like carrying Charles last night, but he seems to like this too, moaning and clutching at the back of Erik's shirt as he melts into the kiss. “Oh...” Charles whimpers when their lips part, blinking his wide, dilated eyes. “I think I'm supposed to be calmer for negotiation.”

Erik chuckles. “Upright, fully clothed cup of coffee?”

“Please.” Charles follows him into the kitchen and sits down at the table, primly folding his hands on top of it. Erik pours for both of them and brings out the cream and sugar because he doesn't know how Charles takes his coffee. He watches as Charles stirs in a little sugar and then enough cream to turn his coffee beige, and smiles.

“So. How are you feeling today?”

“Pretty good. Less nervous after your charming greeting.”

“I'm glad you like that sort of thing, because you seem to bring it out in me.”

“Ooh, lovely,” Charles says, with a grin of his own. He takes a sip of his coffee and sets the cup down again, regarding Erik more seriously. “So, safewords?”

“I like green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for stop. Easy to remember.”

“That's what I've always said. And I didn't list anything last night that doesn't still sound good to me this morning.” Erik nods, sipping his own black coffee as he listens. “I... Today I don't feel particularly... violent, though.”

“Fine by me.” He grins. “Would you like to come down and see the room I built?”

Charles shivers. “Yes. God, yes.”

“No pressure, and we'll bring our coffee.” Erik says, and leads the way down to the basement. This room has freaked people out before, and a few others have found it too comfortable and Erik too soft. Personally, Erik thinks of it as existing in a midway point between tenderness and brutality. The floor is bare concrete with a central drain, and there's the butcher's hook and the block beside it, but there's also a comfortable cot against the wall, already made up and covered by a rubber sheet to protect it from stage blood and come and anything else. There's a mini-fridge down here as well, stocked with water and a few sodas in case of blood sugar crashes, and the lighting is set up so the room can be bathed in a womblike red glow, harsh white light, surreal blue-green, or its current homey yellow-white.

Far from being disgusted, Charles looks _enchanted_ , walking the perimeter before coming over to the block to watch with avid eyes as Erik unrolls his leather apron and the tool roll inside it, holding his gleaming knives. There's a band of tape around the handle of each one, red for those with a live edge, to cut clothing or for bloodplay, white for tools with the edge ground down so they can be safely held to vital places, and used to trace out cuts of meat. He explains the system to Charles, who shivers and presses against Erik's side.

“I love this place, Erik. Now, when you said no pressure, which direction did you mean?”

Erik chuckles, turning and biting at the edge of Charles's jaw. “I really meant that we'll do whatever you want.”

Charles shivers and presses into the touch of Erik's teeth. “Good, because I want to play.”

Erik shudders. “Something sweet, where you give yourself to me? You said you didn't feel violent.”

“Mm.” Charles kisses Erik's neck. “I don't. I feel like being a sacrificial lamb.”

“Let's finish our coffee and outline it a bit more upstairs.”

“Like responsible adults,” Charles agrees, nodding. “We should at least pretend.”

Erik laughs, and lets Charles lead the way up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Erik waits in the basement, wearing nothing but his apron and gloves. Everything is in order and the lighting is its default color, just dimmed. There's a little paranoid thrill to this, a fear that Charles has left the house, or is posting online about what a creepy loser he's seeing. And then he opens the door, barefoot and wearing Erik's bathrobe. Despite the concrete walls, Erik keeps his workroom warm, and Charles smiles shyly, dropping the robe to the floor to reveal his perfect nakedness.

“Beautiful,” Erik says, padding over to him. Charles shudders, looking up at Erik. “Just what I wanted,” Erik murmurs, making a slow circle around him. Charles lets out a little whimper, mostly hard by the time Erik comes around to the front again. “Do you freely give yourself to me?”

“Yes,” Charles gasps, and whines sharply when Erik bites his shoulder, hard.

“Delicious,” Erik growls, and Charles moans, his knees going weak. Erik picks him up without thinking about it, and Charles whimpers, hiding his face in Erik's neck as he carries him to the block. “So pretty,” Erik murmurs, stretching Charles out onto his back. Charles blushes and squirms, uncut cock already hard and leaking just a little. Erik growls, taking in just how edible Charles looks, all soft and helpless and pink. Erik puts his hands over Charles's where they rest at his sides. “Keep them there,” Erik says, and Charles obeys, trembling as Erik takes a moment to study him.

“D-do I please you, sir?” Charles whispers, and Erik leans down to kiss him.

“So much.” He bites gently at the corner of Charles's mouth, and Charles whines, shaking.

“Oh, _sir_...”

“You're perfect.” He bites Charles's shoulder and makes him keen softly, making a contented rumbling noise of his own. “I will savor you, little one. Such smooth skin and tender flesh.” He trails his tongue across the breadth of Charles's chest, making him cry out and shake. When Erik looks up to his face again, those blue eyes look a little too bright, like they're beginning to fill with tears. “Color?”

“Green, sir,” Charles breathes, and Erik kisses him.

“Good. I'm going to slice you up now, precious. Find the tenderest, sweetest cuts.”

“Please,” Charles whimpers, a tear escaping the corner of one eye and rolling down his cheek. Erik growls and licks it up, and Charles moans. “Oh, please, please cut me.”

For a single crazed moment Erik thinks about grabbing one of the sharp knives and slicing Charles for real. Just a little bit. But they haven't talked about that, and even if Charles enjoyed it, Erik would hate himself afterward. He unrolls his tools on the block beside Charles, stroking one end of the leather along his side. “Maybe I should cure your hide when we're done here,” Erik purrs, and Charles whimpers, cock twitching and releasing a tiny jet of precome. “A pair of gloves, perhaps. Smooth and supple and molded to me.”

Charles makes quiet little sobbing noises with each breath, trembling as he waits for Erik to select a knife. At last Erik pulls out a skinning knife. It still looks utterly lethal, despite being about as sharp as a golf ball. Charles whimpers, and Erik purrs, nuzzling his chest before biting one nipple viciously. Charles bucks and cries out, the sound high-pitched and utterly lost. “Such a pretty little lamb,” Erik purrs, and Charles looks stunned, eyes wide and glazed over, lips parted. “You like knowing I'm going to devour you?”

“Yes,” Charles whimpers, “please, yes.”

Erik chuckles, kissing him again before raising the knife. He slides the blade along the imaginary lines, slicing Charles into neck and shoulder and rib sections, breast and foreshank and flank. He names the cuts as he makes them, and Charles moans, precome pooling on his belly now. He's so hard it must hurt, but Erik won't touch him yet. Instead he traces the lines again with his tongue, biting hard at each juncture and making Charles flinch and wail. After that he bites him again and again over his ribs and across his chest, almost hard enough to break the skin each time. Charles is crying out as fast as he can draw breath, high and sharp and mindless. It sounds almost like terror, but Erik knows better. At last he works his way down to lick Charles's belly clean and to nibble on that softness, which tickles Charles and makes him laugh weakly. Erik grins up at him, and then takes Charles's cock into his mouth. Charles bucks and wails, his nails digging into the wood as he fights to keep his hands where they are. Erik purrs, and pulls off long enough to say, “You're allowed to touch me,” before getting back to work. Charles moans, and clutches at Erik's hair, keening as Erik slides down to the base of him and then digs in with his teeth, almost too hard.

“Yours!” Charles squeaks, trembling all over. “Take it,” he whimpers, “take it, take it...”

Erik groans, easing off and licking at the middle of Charles's shaft for a moment and then suddenly sliding back down and returning to the same amount of pressure, a hard, hungry bite that makes Charles squeal and come. Erik works him through it, swallowing and swallowing, a little shocked at just how long and hard Charles's climax is. He whimpers and moans as he catches his breath, chest heaving and little aftershocks shuddering through his body. Erik sighs, finally letting Charles's soft cock slip out of his mouth.

“Beautiful,” he growls, and covers Charles's hips and lower belly with kisses before sliding up and ranging over him, pressing his cock against Charles's hip through the apron, hard flesh under black leather. Charles whimpers again and kisses Erik, melting into it and letting Erik use his mouth. Erik shivers and groans, losing track of the next few moments before pulling away and stripping the apron off. He only removes the gloves long enough to get a condom on. He keeps lube in a pump bottle because fuck discretion within the walls of one's own fetish dungeon, and is able to slick up two black clad fingers with ease. Charles moans, watching. “Please, sir,” he says when Erik comes back to the block and reaches between his legs, “please use me.” Erik kisses him again, rough and deep, and works fingers into Charles one a time. He yields easily, and by the time Erik is working a third in, Charles is begging for his cock. Erik growls and gives it to him, making Charles whimper desperately as he sinks in. Charles gets halfway hard again from being fucked, and has a weak second orgasm when Erik comes inside him, biting onto Charles's shoulder again, muffling his own desperate cry.


	8. Chapter 8

Erik is a firm believer in aftercare. He won't go so far as to say that it's the best part, but only because he enjoys things pretty evenly. Taking Charles apart has been delicious, and soothing him and cleaning him up will be just as good. He slides out carefully, making Charles make a little complaining noise. Erik chuckles, peeling the condom off and tossing it into the small trash can tucked in under the block. Among the many things Erik keeps down here is an enormous box of wet wipes, and after covering Charles with kisses, Erik pulls them out from the top of the set of shelves under one end of the block. He cleans Charles off with the wipes, murmuring the whole time about what a sweet boy he is and how much Erik has enjoyed him. Charles just lies there and makes little cooing noises, still trembling a little. Erik presses kisses to all the various bitemarks which are bruising black now, and Charles moans quietly. Erik smiles down at him, kissing his forehead.

“Ready to move?” The rubber sheet is already off the bed, because the scene hadn't been a messy one. Charles nods, and makes a formless and sweet little noise in his throat as Erik picks him up again. “God, I love carrying you,” he murmurs, walking over to the bed and wishing it were a little further away so he could savor the trusting, childlike way Charles cuddles into his chest. Charles seems to feel much the same, clinging to Erik when he puts him down. “Just let me get my leather off, little one.”

“Okay,” Charles whispers, and Erik strips out of his gloves and apron quickly, draping them over the block. They're all treated and can be cleaned later, so he cuddles up to Charles, pulling the blanket over them. Charles's heart beats slower and slower, and soon he's dozing, his back to Erik's front. He's adorable, and Erik just watches him until he has to get up and take a leak. Luckily there's a bathroom right next door. It would be adjoining if he hadn't wanted to be sure of good sound-proofing, and as it is he gets back to the workroom just as Charles's eyes are starting to flicker open again.

“Erik?” he mumbles.

“Right here, lamb,” Erik assures him, and Charles shivers.

“I think I like that.”

“It suits you,” Erik says, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking Charles's hair. “You're adorable and fluffy and edible.” Charles laughs, and nuzzles Erik's hand. “My little lamb,” Erik croons, and Charles makes a happy little sound, blushing slightly. Erik sits there and pets Charles for another few minutes before Charles asks for water, sending him across the floor to the fridge to get them each a bottle. He can feel Charles watching him and poses a little when he stops, looking over his shoulder. “See something you like?”

“Definitely,” Charles chirps, and Erik laughs, coming back with the water. He opens one bottle and passes it to Charles, who sits up on the cot to drink it, leaning on Erik's shoulder when he sits on the edge to open his own water. Erik hadn't noticed before, but they've both worked up quite a thirst, finishing both bottles in a few minutes. Charles belches lightly and laughs again. “Excuse me.”

“Any time,” Erik assures him, grinning. “All right with you if I finish the cleaning?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

Erik smiles, and kisses Charles's cheek. “I try to take good care of people,” he says, and gets up to wipe off the gloves and the apron. It doesn't take very long this time, and he's able to put them away within five minutes. There's a hose coiled up in one corner for really ambitious messes, but he hasn't had to use it yet. He goes over the block with disinfectant wipes and a little mineral oil just to keep up the habit, and then puts both items away, stretching his arms and his back. Charles wolf-whistles, startling Erik and making him laugh. He goes next door to wash his hands, coming back still grinning.

“Are we ready to go upstairs and face the light of day again?”

“Yes. Should I stay naked? I did offer.”

“I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, lamb. Take the robe if you want it.” Charles does want it, and kisses Erik on the cheek before wrapping it around himself and leading the way upstairs. Erik doesn't feel the cold as easily as most other people, and is comfortable in his skin on the way up. He has some large windows, though, and finds a pair of jeans so as not to traumatize the neighbors. It's raining now, something they couldn't see or hear from the basement, and it makes the house cool enough for Erik to start a small fire before cuddling up on the couch with Charles for a game of chess. Charles plays white and Erik black, and he proves himself to be a vicious little bastard with a real turn for strategy. It's adorable. He wins two out of three games before his phone rings. He answers, clearly talking to a student about a thesis. When he finally hangs up, he gives Erik and apologetic look. “I was going to go do actual work in an hour, and now it looks like Hank needs a hand.”

“Well, far be it from me to keep you from productively participating in the community. Should I feed you or anything? Are you steady?”

“Something to eat would be very nice, thank you. I don't drop too badly as a general rule, but if you could drop me a line sometime this evening, it would help. When I _do_ drop, it's usually a fit of insecurity hours after the fact.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Erik says, kissing him and going into the kitchen. The quickest solution is a turkey sandwich, and Erik sets it on the table along with another bottle of water and an apple. Charles grins, coming in and seeing it.

“It's like I just got home from third grade.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“It's lovely,” Charles says, and then settles into devouring his food. Erik opens a beer and sips it, watching Charles eat. It's a cozy feeling, and he's sorry when Charles has to get properly dressed and leave, giving Erik a last kiss on the doorstep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for additional warnings and possible triggers, thanks. I don't want to bum you out.

Over the next few days Erik gets to know Charles better, and they actually go out dancing a week after their first meeting. Erik knows a place with enough queers for them to blend in without enough to attract the embarrassing and plastic type. Instead it's nice married couples from the suburbs and elegant drag queens and baby bulldykes in three-piece suits. Charles follows as gracefully as any girl Erik has ever danced with, trusting Erik's lead the way he trusts Erik with knives on his skin. Erik still hasn't cut him for real. They only had time for one quick scene on Thursday afternoon, Charles writhing in Erik's bed as Erik had clawed long red lines onto his chest and thighs. Now he lets Erik walk him through a tango even though he knows it the least. He's a fast learner, though, and they're stalking around the floor quite satisfactorily by the end of the song. Erik feels a surge of predatory nature, looking at the prefect crook of Charles's neck, but he doesn't bite. They're in public, and Charles doesn't own nearly as many turtlenecks as Erik.

The two of them are stumbling into the house, drunk on being together, when Erik's phone rings. It's Emma, and at this hour it's probably serious, so he sighs and gives Charles one last kiss before stepping back and answering it. “Your timing is not good, Emma.”

“There's no good time for a woman to find out that the doctor doing her IVF is being suspended indefinitely for 'ethical violations.'”

“...Oh, shit.” He gives Charles a look to indicate how serious this is, and goes to sit on the couch while Charles's natural courtesy leads him to retreat to the kitchen. “So what happened?”

“I don't know! They just said 'ethical violations!' Apparently Dr. Nathaniel Essex,” she spits the name with corrosive hate, “has been experimenting on all of us! The donor could be a goddamn German Shepherd for all I know!” She's sobbing by the end of the sentence, and Erik feels sick.

“Fuck. Do you need me to come over?”

“I don't want to ruin your date...”

“Emma, fuck a date! This is terrible!”

“...You know what? Bring him. We can have an 'Emma's doctor is scum' party.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Don't force him, but he's welcome to come with you.”

“Either way, I should be there within forty minutes.”

“Thank you, Erik,” she says softly.

“You're welcome, Emma.” He hangs up, still reeling, and goes to the kitchen, where Charles has actually made tea. Erik laughs, the sound a little cracked but still a relief. “I thought it was a stereotype that the British always make tea in a crisis!”

“It's a deep part of the national psyche, and it does help.”

Erik nods, taking a cup and sipping it. “Well. My friend has just gotten very bad news about the reliability of her doctor, and needs me for moral support. She also wants to be distracted and to get to know you, so you're welcome to come along.”

“Oh, dear. If you think it would help, I'd be glad to. What happened?”

“She's trying to have a baby with IVF, and apparently her doctor is being investigated for something. Worse, that's all she knows.”

“Oh. Good god, that's terrible. I'd like to come with you, if you think it would help.”

They get to Emma's apartment and she buzzes them in, greeting them at her door with red eyes and a bottle of sparkling water. She hugs Erik tightly and leads them inside to settle on her white sectional by the coffee table. “Thank you for coming,” she says softly, and Charles smiles.

“I just wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“So do I,” she says, sighing and fetching glasses to pour them all some of her water. “So yes,” she says in response to Erik's inquiring look, “The implantation was two days ago. Whatever Essex made for me, it's in there now.” She sniffles, and Erik puts an arm around her.

“I know a very good physician,” Charles says.

“Oh? A personal reference is very welcome.”

“I'll bet. You poor thing.” He reaches across Erik and pats her hand, and she smiles.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

They stay at Emma's until quite late, drinking sparkling water and watching Kurosawa films. She and Charles take to each other, recognizing a certain covert resemblance; that Emma isn't as icy as she seems and that Charles isn't as soft as he looks. He tells her about his friend Moira, who takes very good care of women with fertility problems and difficult pregnancies, and then talks about other things over 'Dreams,' which Emma has seen at least fifty times. She still hushes him during the peach orchard segment, and Erik smiles.

By the time Charles needs to leave, Emma is much calmer. Erik drives Charles home, thanking him for being such a good sport about everything and such a distraction to Emma.

“It was the least I could do, Erik,” he says, getting out and then leaning in the open window to kiss Erik goodbye. “She's lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Thanks, Charles. Take care,” Erik says, and doesn't drive off until Charles is safely inside the building. He drives back to Emma's, not surprised to find her getting sniffly again. “Come on, princess,” he says, putting an arm around her. “Let's go to bed.” There's no risk of her taking this figuratively. Erik had helped with the initial baby attempt, which utilized the old-fashioned method. It didn't take, and they had both agreed that it had been really, really weird, and that they didn't want to try again. Now Erik sort of wishes it had worked as curls around Emma, holding her and assuring her that whatever happens, he'll help her with it. 

She sighs, lacing her fingers with his, her cotton nightgown soft against his bare chest. “I know you will, Erik. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while looking up how the Stepford Cuckoos canonically came to be, I realized two things. That I wouldn't trust someone named Dr. John Sublime to scramble my eggs, and that whoever Emma's doctor was, they would have to have terrible ethics. So Dr. Nathaniel Essex has done things without Emma's knowledge or consent for his own weird experiments, but I promise it works out all right. Well, for everyone but him. He ends up in jail and Emma sues him within an inch of his life.


	10. Chapter 10

The coming week is nowhere near as fun as the previous one, spent going with Emma to Dr. MacTaggert and to her lawyer's office. He's glad to be there to hold her hand when Dr. MacTaggert gives her her test results and information from Essex's seized notes.

“Ms. Frost, what I'm about to tell you may be very distressing,” Moira says, and Emma gets that hard, icy look on her face. She told Erik that when her father would viciously cut her down in public that she would pretend to be made of flawless diamond, and he thinks of that now, putting his arm around her. “Nathaniel Essex took advantage of your desire for anonymous donation to insert your own genetic material into your eggs, and he implanted more embryos than were indicated. You're carrying five clones of yourself.”

Emma nods, very slowly, letting the information sink in. Moira answers Emma's questions, and then recommends selective reduction. It's the sensible thing to do, but Erik can see Emma getting icier and icier, and isn't in the least surprised when Emma interrupts with her a cold and decisive, “No.”

Erik knows full well that it will be useless to dissuade her, but lets Moira try for a while out of courtesy. Finally Moira sighs, seeing the same thing. “Fine. In that case, you do exactly what I tell you, and you show up for every appointment even if they're only two days apart, got it?”

Emma smiles for the first time since she came into the office. “Got it.”

“Now, are you and Erik together?”

“No, I'm single. He's a very good friend, though, and was an early donor. Anything you would disclose to the father you can tell him.”

Moira nods. “I'll have to get that in writing, but it shouldn't be too hard.”

After making appointments for more tests, they go back to Emma's apartment, where she examines the spacious, airy nursery. Being over thirty-five and doing things this way, she had already been prepared for twins, and looks around the room with her hands on her hips. “It could hold five, don't you think?”

“I think so,” Erik says softly.

“...I want them all to make it,” Emma whispers, voice cracking, and Erik hugs her. “It would be insane and I wouldn't be able to sleep at all for the first two years, probably, but I want them all to make it.”

“I know you do, Emma. And I'll help you, however many you end up with.”

“I wish my timing was better. Does Charles feel neglected?”

“He has some idea how much you have to worry about right now, and doesn't begrudge you my support. Lensherr Industries, on the other hand...”

Emma laughs. “Surely the boss can give you some paternal leave.”

Since Erik works for himself, this is very likely. Once he's sure that Emma is comfortable and has plenty of healthy food in the house, he goes home, emotionally exhausted and suddenly lonely. Before he really knows what he's doing, he calls Charles.

“Erik?” He sounds pleased, raising his voice over what sounds like a bar or a party in the background.

“Hi, Charles. I just felt like calling you. Is this a bad time?”

“I'm just hanging about the pub with my fellow degenerates. What's up?”

Erik smiles. “I was morally supporting Emma today, and now I need some.”

“Oh. Well, I'm a bit drunk, but I should have enough for a cab somewhere...” There's some confused noise as he looks for it, and Erik yells that he'll pay if Charles can't came up with the fare. “Got it!” Charles chirps. “I'm going to finish the drink I'm holding right now, but then I'll come over, all right?”

“Way better than all right. Thank you, Charles.” Erik hangs up, hoping that Charles isn't an annoying drunk and also wishing that Azazel wasn't a pilot and currently somewhere in Malaysia. Realizing he hasn't eaten all day, Erik heats up some leftover pad Thai and is eating it straight from the carton when the doorbell rings. He lets Charles in and feels a little better just looking at his flushed and adorable little face.

“Wow, you look very un-dapper,” Charles says. “It's cute, but you must be really tired.”

Erik smiles. “I am. Are you hungry?”

“For greasy Thai food? Is there any more?”

“There's curry. We can share.”

“Brilliant.”

Soon they're settled by the fire Erik has laid by not lit because the nights are warm again. Charles leans on him eats both noodles and curry, talking about his students. He clearly adores all of them, and his very presence makes Erik relax. He relaxes a little too much, and jerks his head up suddenly, feeling like an asshole. Charles just smiles at him. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

“Can I come? Like, for cuddly reasons.”

Erik smiles. “Sure.” He leads Charles to the bathroom and makes sure he's not too drunk for basic hygiene before going back out and throwing away the cartons and paper towels and then taking his turn in the bathroom. Wandering out to find Charles all pink and fluffy-haired and cozy in his bed is absolutely something Erik could get used to. Charles smiles and reaches out for him. Erik hangs his towel the back of a chair and climbs into bed with Charles, wrapping around him and purring as he turns off the light. The darkness is quiet and intimate, and Erik sighs, nuzzling Charles's hair. “I'm so glad I know you,” he mutters, because it's too early to tell Charles he loves him, even though Erik is pretty sure he does.

“Likewise, Erik.” He laces their fingers together and kisses Erik's hand. “You're the sweetest cannibal I've ever met.”

“Thank you, lamb,” Erik coos, pressing a kiss behind Charles's ear that makes him shiver happily.

“It'd be nice if we could do something real bloody when Emma is more settled and you have time for it, though.”

Erik shivers. “Willing sacrifice, or should I chase you down?”

“I...” Erik gets the sudden sense that Charles is only telling him this because of the liquor. “I want to be helpless and to beg for my life. And you coax me into wanting to be eaten.” He giggles nervously. “You know, like a rape fantasy but with cannibalism.”

Erik shudders and hugs Charles tightly to assure him that he's not freaked out. “I'll go there with you, but I might drop really badly.”

Charles yawns. “We can talk about it later.”

“Yeah,” Erik murmurs, kissing his cheek, “we can.”


	11. Chapter 11

Erik makes happy growling noises in the back of his throat as he cuddles into a perfect and wonderful warmth that gradually registers to his slowly waking brain as Charles. He shivers and stretches like a kitten when Charles strokes his hair, and Charles chuckles.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Mm,” Erik rolls onto his back and catches Charles's fingertips in his mouth, mumbling, “tasty lamb,” around them.

Charles laughs. “Isn't lamb a bit heavy for breakfast?”

“Always good,” Erik says, nibbling lightly at Charles's fingers before letting them go, pleased at the way he blushes. 

Erik ends up having lamb for breakfast after all, holding Charles down and fucking him slow and deep, purring into his ear about how edible he looks. It's about as close to vanilla as Erik gets these days, done with holding himself in check when he's supposed to be letting go. After a short nap, Charles leaps up bright-eyed and happy to demand actual breakfast. He is an absolutely filthy boy and illustrates this fact on a sausage, going from beautifully obscene to ludicrous until Erik is cackling helplessly into the table top.

“And now that I have your attention,” Charles says, in a very good imitation of Marilyn Monroe that makes Erik snicker and almost break up again, before continuing in his normal voice, “I was thinking we could negotiate, since we're both in such a good mood.”

Erik smiles at him. “There are certainly worse times. You said you wanted something like a rape fantasy, right? I capture and eat you, forcing you to enjoy it?” He slices a sausage into small bites.

Charles blushes slightly. “Basically, yes. I don't need to be caught, though. We can just start with you bringing your prey back to the basement.”

“Any particular preference about a scenario?”

Charles shrugs, chewing and swallowing his bite of toast before speaking. “Oh, I don't really care what you are. Ogre, cultist, serial killer--”

“Not that.” It comes out more sharply than Erik means it to, and Charles looks taken aback. “Sorry, I just... I played with a guy who wanted that. A whole narrative of how we had met in a gay bar and I had drugged his drink and he would wake up in the basement. It was just too real. I had the worst drop of my _life_ after that. Three days later at the grocery store I started to cry.” Erik shudders. “No orgasm is worth that to me.”

Charles grimaces. “Indeed not. The more fantastical, the better?”

“Yeah. Something that couldn't happen is the best.”

“Ooh, I like fantastical. I can be a prisoner sacrificed to a shark god, or a boy walking alone in an ogre's woods, or a demon summoner whose demon broke free...”

“I vote for the ogre. It's simple, and probably won't make me have a nervous breakdown about what a bad, bad man I am while I'm trying to find the whole-wheat bread.”

“We certainly don't want that,” Charles says softly, reaching across the table to squeeze Erik's hand. “Is there anything else we should avoid?”

“I prefer 'please don't eat me' to 'I don't want to die.'”

Charles laces their fingers together. “Because it's not really about death, is it?”

Erik smiles. “Not even when I slaughter you, precious lamb.”

Of course, they can't do anything about it today. Erik has to hold Emma's hand for more tests and help investigate her Lamaze instructor because she's not making the same mistake twice. Not that paying for one of the best in the field and expecting the bastard to do his job can really be called a _mistake_. This time they have the lawyer look at Ororo Munroe's papers and every record of her they can find, professional and otherwise. Though as Erik points out, the worst a bad Lamaze instructor can do is give you bad advice.

Azazel is back by the weekend, which makes Erik feel a lot better. He has known Emma even longer than Erik has, and immediately moves into the guest bedroom. Emma isn't one of those women frightened to be alone, but now she's afraid of miscarrying from the stress of slipping in the shower with no one to help her up, and Azazel moves easily. His apartment is really more of a landing pad, and with one small rolling bag he's equipped to spend his non-work time with Emma for the rest of her pregnancy.

Erik goes over there after Az is settled in, and the three of them drink sparkling water and have what is basically a junior high slumber party from the fifties. They actually play boardgames for a while, and then Emma makes popcorn and Az sits and braids her hair while they demand that Erik supply the 'talking about boys' part. He rolls his eyes and takes another handful of popcorn, sprawled out on the living room rug while a muted horror film plays.

“If you insist.”

“At least Emma has met this little morsel. When do I get my chance?”

“On the twelfth of never,” Erik says, sticking his tongue out at Azazel, and Emma laughs.

“Please tell us you've at least eaten him.”

Erik can feel his mouth pulling into a lascivious grin. “I have, and we've got more planned.”

“Ooh, lovely,” Azazel purrs. “With all the blood and gore and screaming?”

“Hopefully, yes.”

Emma frowns. “He knows not to give you trouble like that Xorn boy, right?”

“We talked about that.” Not that Erik ever wants to tell Charles about Xorn, who had been a stupid mistake from start to finish. The latter had occurred when he had wanted a repeat of the serial killer thing... with some added Nazi stuff. Really, the whole thing is just _embarrassing_ , now. That Erik would ever play with a guy like Xorn, let alone do it more than once.

“Good,” Emma says, looking murderous. 

Azazel chuckles, and pats her shoulder. “Relax, your highness. You're expecting, it's my job to protect Erik's virtue now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated Grant Morrison's time writing X-Men, and all of Erik's thoughts about Xorn mirror my own.
> 
> (He could've been cool, but what they actually went with was stupid.)


	12. Chapter 12

By Sunday afternoon, Charles has everything in order. With the massive change to Emma's life and by extension Erik's, Charles had promised to fine-tune his half of the scenario and to take care of costuming. Erik likes a little bit of amateur theatrics for his scenes, but knows he doesn't have the energy to take care of that and Charles. As it is he barely gets the blood together in time. It's his own recipe. Perhaps a little too dark, but otherwise perfect. Nothing fake smells like real, but this stuff feels real, heavy and slick, and it hardly tastes like anything, with no distracting mint or gooey sweetness. Whenever Erik makes a batch he stores it in large water bottles, and now four liters of the stuff is sitting in a bucket of warm water. He shivers, making sure they're blood-warm, and that the potted plants he borrowed from Emma are actually making the place smell like a forest. Satisfied with everything, Erik heads upstairs. They've agreed that he'll blindfold Charles before they go down the stairs, and that both of them will be fully in-role by the time they reach the basement.

Charles beams at Erik, flushed and looking adorably keyed up in the kitchen, a cardboard box in his hands.. “So, are we ready?”

“I think so,” Erik says. “Do we dress the butcher or the meat first?” It's gratifying to see Charles shiver at that.

“You first. I've never heard of an ogre wearing an apron, so I brought you this.” He pulls a leather loincloth out of the bag. “If either of us were Japanese, I'd have got you tiger pattern.”

Erik laughs, and runs the soft, smooth brown leather through his hands. “It's lovely..”

“Wonderful.” Charles beams at him and then pulls out something else. “Now, these aren't strictly necessary, but I thought they might help.” It's a pair of horns, very realistic and attached to a thin, clear band that will be entirely hidden by Erik's hair. Erik grins and takes them from Charles, holidng them up to the light.

“God, where did you even find these?”

“I have friends in strange places. Like the Theatre Department.” Erik looks over at him and Charles smiles. “No, they're not stolen goods and we're don't have to return them, either, I just got a good tip on where to shop.”

“So much the better,” Erik says, putting them on. He's very careful to hide the band in his hair, and they look quite realistic by the time he has them adjusted to his satisfaction. 

Charles beams at him. “You make a lovely ogre, Erik.”

“Good.” He takes his clothes off and folds them neatly, putting them on the table as he ties the loincloth around his waist, having to adjust it a bit to keep it from falling off his skinny hips. It hangs beautifully, though, and really does make Erik feel ogreish. He grins at Charles, who blushes and swallows hard. “Well, little one?”

“Right,” Charles says, sounding a bit dazed, and strips slowly, all unintentional tease before he puts his clothes beside Erik's. He looks very small and shy, and Erik is consumed with the urge to bite him. Instead he pulls the last item out of the box, a blindfold made of the same leather as the loincloth.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” Charles whispers, and shivers as Erik fastens it around his head. It's a good size and shape, clinging to Charles's eyes and truly blocking his sight. Erik grins.

“Ready?” Erik asks again, taking Charles's hands.

Charles squeezes Erik's hands, shivering again. “Ready.” Erik smiles, and leads him to the head of the stairs, and then picks him up and makes his careful way down. Charles gasps and clings to him, but starts to struggle weakly as soon as they're level again.

“Please don't eat me,” he begs, a tearful little catch in his voice. 

Erik growls, and licks Charles's neck. “We all have to eat, little one. It's rare to find such perfect prey.”

“Oh, please...” Charles whimpers, shaking and then squeaking as Erik shifts him to one side to open the basement door. Emma's plants are lush and healthy and potted in rich, black soil. The scent of them in the enclosed space really is like a forest, and Erik growls, feeling like an ogre in the dim and mostly red light of his cave. He pulls the door shut behind them and locks it in the same motion, quickly getting both arms around Charles again and biting his shoulder, making him cry out. There's a weak, desperate quality to it that makes Erik's pulse quicken.

“Sweet boy,” Erik growls, and Charles whines, shaking all over as Erik runs his tongue up the side of his neck to nip at his ear.

“Please,” Charles whimpers, “please, I'll do anything!” He struggles in Erik's arms, just enough to make getting him to the block a bit of a challenge. Erik pushes Charles down onto his back and laughs, binding his hand to one corner. There are sturdy eye bolts under each corner of the block, and Erik has passed a strip of smooth leather through each one. He has cuffs, but actually tying Charles this way feels more ogreish.

“You don't have a choice. What you're going to do is feed me,” Erik says, and laughs again, pinning Charles and binding his ankles to the lower corners. Charles pulls at the straps and sobs, chest heaving and cock hard. He's beautiful, and Erik tells him so, climbing onto the block and ranging over him. “I went hunting, I caught you. You're mine.”

“Oh god, oh god, please don't!” Charles whimpers, and he sounds so desperate that Erik needs to take a quick glance at the way his cock is leaking, twitching a little with his heartbeat.

Erik chuckles, nuzzling Charles's chest and letting him feel the sharp tips of the horns against the softness under his chin. “When has an ogre ever done anything in the name of god?” He suckles slowly at Charles's nipple, making him writhe and moan, yelping when Erik bites. “Besides,” Erik murmurs, licking the red mark as Charles melts into his bonds, “it's not all bad.”

“O-o-ohh...”

“I'll savor you,” Erik coaxes, taking a moment to suck and bite the other nipple, making Charles groan. “You're no ordinary meal.” 

“Ah... d-do you promise?” Charles gasps, and Erik licks up the tears that have escaped from under the blindfold.

“I promise you, little one.”


	13. Chapter 13

Erik always takes his character into account when things get elaborate. He has many blades, and he loves them all. Unlike a lot of men (who aren't drag queens) Erik _completely_ understands what it is with women and shoes. Knives always fit in his hand, and they're always beautiful, and they're fun to shop for and particularly delightful when new. Over the years Erik has done a lot of scenes with multiple knives, and careful, meticulous tool use. But now he's an ogre. A beast of the forest has one knife, if any, and it's something heavy.

The heaviest of the white blades is a bowie knife, beautifully balanced and as long as his forearm. Its twin is a red blade, because Erik couldn't bear to only own a dulled one. It's still a thing of beauty, though, and he takes a moment just to watch it gleam. He's straddling Charles's hips and watching his boy squirm. “Going to cut you soon,'” he growls, “but not yet.”

“N-not yet?” Charles asks, sounding helpless and confused. And so adorable that Erik gives him a soft and rather out of character kiss on the mouth.

“Not just yet, boy. Not just yet.” He croons the words, nipping and nibbling at Charles's chest, their erections sliding together soft and hot. Charles moans, and gets louder and louder as Erik bites harder. There are still faint marks from last week, but Charles begs Erik for more and harder, keening when he obliges. Erik groans, and doesn't stop biting Charles for a long time. At last he pauses to suck on the pulse in his throat, though, and Charles whimpers. Erik sighs and nuzzles Charles's cheek before rolling a condom onto him and lubing up two fingers. While Charles struggles to just keep breathing, Erik works himself open slowly, moaning a little for Charles's benefit and because it feels that fucking good and is making him wonder, as usual, why he doesn't do this more often.

Soon, he's ready, and he can take Charles in one long, slow slide. He groans and tips his head back as he grinds down on Charles, swallowing him up completely. After a moment to adjust, he opens his eyes to look down at Charles, suddenly wishing they hadn't gone with the blindfold for this one. “I want you inside me in every way,” Erik growls, starting to rock slowly and making Charles sob and writhe. “I want to keep you forever.” He hadn't really meant to say that last part out loud, but Charles cries out, and starts incoherently begging for Erik to take him, to consume him and keep him. Erik groans and puts a heavy hand on Charles's throat. Not choking, just resting there, gentle and overwhelming.

“Color?” Erik murmurs, because if he's going to keep doing things instinctually he should be checking in even if he _is_ an ogre.

“Green,” Charles whispers, tipping his head back and pressing up into Erik's hand. He shudders, and squeezes just a little before leaning down and biting his shoulder. Erik's object isn't to come or to get Charles there, so after playing with him for a bit longer, Erik slides off, chuckling at Charles's whine of protest. Erik peels the condom off and throws it away.

“Now, now, little one. We're not done yet.” Erik brings out more leather strips and unties Charles's feet from the block, hopping down to the floor again to tie Charles's feet together with a crossed and recrossed figure-eight of tough leather. It's enough to take his weight, and he whimpers as fast as he can breathe when Erik picks him up again and turns him upside-down. “We still have to bleed you.” He hangs Charles from the hook, and thinks for a moment that he'll come just from that. Erik ties Charles's hands behind his back, and then steps back to look at him for a moment, because Charles is indescribably precious, helpless and suspended. “Delicious,” Erik says, and brings out the warmed blood. There's no real way to match the actual arterial spray, but Erik tells Charles to hold still and bare his throat. He obeys, and Erik uses both hands to cut his throat, one pulling the knife across fast enough for the blunt edge to burn in way that feels like a real cut, the other squeezing the bottle in the same motion, dousing both of them in a spray of warm blood. 

This time Charles does come, gasping and shaking so hard that he looks a bit like a hooked fish. Erik just watches in awe, and when Charles quiets, Erik guides his red, gasping mouth to his cock, groaning as Charles sucks and drools, moaning softly. Erik can only stand about a minute of this before he comes so hard he has to stagger back and sit down on the concrete floor when it's over. He only takes a few seconds before getting Charles down and stretching him out on the block again, undoing his bonds and gently rubbing at the reddened skin beneath them and covering him with kisses. Charles just breathes slowly and deeply, still trembling a little. Erik strokes Charles's hair and lets him undo his own blindfold, something he had mentioned before. He does it slowly, but finally smiles up at Erik.

“All right?” Erik asks, cupping the side of Charles's face in one hand.

“Much better than that. Water, please?”

“Of course.” Erik gets a bottle for each of them, and they sit side by side on the block, sticky with stage blood and guzzling water.

Charles looks around at all the blood and chuckles. “How much did you use?”

“Two liters.”

“...Good god, man.”

“Go big or go home,” Eriks says, draining his bottle and grinning down at Charles where he's tucked up under one arm.

“A man after my own heart,” Charles says, and pulls Erik down for a long kiss. “I'll help you clean up,” Charles says when they part, laughing.

“Good. Can I take off my cute little horns now?”

“Oh, but they suit you so well!”


	14. Chapter 14

One of the very best things about Charles is that he dives right into Helping Emma Out, which has become Azazel and Erik's primary goal. Azazel won't be able to take much time off when it's not his baby, but Erik can take the same generous parental leave package he offers his own people. An orphan knows the value of family, so he spends most of Emma's first trimester getting things in order for a long absence. Lensherr Industries is a small firm, but a robust one. They specialize in customization, accessibility, and building things to last. Erik is proud of the business, being the proverbial self-made man. As with most self-made men, he had had a little help. His parents had been careful and clever with money, and after their murder Erik had inherited quite a bit of start-up capital. Still, the work is all his own, and there's nothing more satisfying than knowing that disabled kids around the country are playing on playground equipment of his own design. The company is known for humane policies and reasonable prices, and he feels an irrational spike of anxiety as he puts in his own paternal leave. Lensherr Industries is _his_ baby, and he can't help but worry about leaving it.

Charles understands, which is yet another wonderful thing about him. He sits there and listens to Erik fret and pats his hand just like they're all doing with Emma, and then gets him to his feet again and out the door to the excellent Thai place Emma goes to. She's currently caught in the iron grip of a craving for mild red curry, and with Azazel out of the country again it's their job to keep her supplied. The proprietress is an old lady with several children of her own who is proud to be one of an expectant mother's major food choices, and usually throws in some kind of extra. This time it's a coconut custard that looks and smells incredible, and Erik thanks her, returning her little bow. 

Charles smiles at him on the sidewalk outside. “That was really cute.”

“What?”

“Oh, just watching you with Mrs. Johnson. In a cartoon, you'd help old ladies across the street, wouldn't you?”

“Probably, since I did it in real life, once.”

“Oh?”

“Hip trouble in the middle of an intersection. I helped her get out of the way and be seen, since she was about five foot nothing and wearing grey.”

“Aw.”

Erik rolls his eyes. “I'm just not a dick, you'd help too. Besides,” he adds, wondering how it is that Charles always draws information out of him, “I never had a grandmother.”

“Oh?” Charles takes the fob from Erik's pocket and unlocks the car.

“Yeah. No grandparents,” he said, putting the food in the back seat when Charles opens the door for him. “No cousins, either,” he says, straightening up and stretching his back. “Holocaust got the extended family.”

“Shit, I'm so sorry.”

“It's a little lonely,” Erik admits as they both get into the car and buckle up, “but there's more than one way to make a family.”

“Yeah,” Charles says softly, and finds some lovely classical music, another thing they both enjoy. Though Charles has to listen to Wagner on his own time. Erik has a personal boycott against the anti-semetic bastard, and appreciates Charles's unquestioning acceptance of that. This is Bach, though, and soothing. Soon they reach Emma's building, and she buzzes them in, helping them spread their feast out in all its various boxes and cartons. She's just starting to show and her morning sickness actually acts according to the name, meaning that she's ravenous by lunch.

Emma doesn't actually say anything to either of them until a quarter of her large curry has disappeared. “So, how are you?” she says in a sweet, syrupy voice, and Charles laughs.

“Well, thank you. Feeling better?”

“Much,” she says, and serves herself more rice. “I'm scared of the second trimester, because that's when I'll _really_ be eating for six.” She knocks on the wooden top of the table without even acknowledging the motion of her hand, and Erik can't blame her.

“Everyone still looking well?” Charles asks, and Emma smiles, bringing out her most recent ultrasound images. It's a ridiculous jumble of little creatures already, but each tiny heart shows clearly. They look strong, and Emma's eyes well up a bit when Erik says so.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and he turns the conversation to other things because Emma hates to cry in company.

When they leave later that night, Erik thanks Charles again for being so good to Emma, and he smiles. “I'd expect you to be good to Raven.”

“I'd do my best for her,” he says, opening Charles's door for him. Charles has referred to some vast ancestral pile, but he lives in a little apartment that Erik could already find in his sleep. “Though I'd expect you to go to those damn Lamaze classes.”

“You like them and you know it.”

The damnable thing is that Erik sort of does, especially now that people are done assuming that he's the father. “You're too perceptive, Xavier. I'm sure it's why you and Emma get along.”

“Perhaps,” Charles admits, and holds Erik's hand at every stoplight, his thumb stroking the back of it. When they reach Charles's building, it doesn't take much cajoling for Erik to come in. It's exactly the kind of place Erik would have expected Charles to have. Subtly luxurious and stuffed with books, it feels lived-in and cosy and like someone much older than Charles actually is lives there. He shows Erik around the small space and then makes tea for both of them. They settle on the couch, Charles leaning his head on Erik's shoulder the way he always does. Erik sighs and relaxes against the back of the couch, wrapping his free arm around Charles, sipping Earl Grey with the other hand.

“Mm. Tea and sympathy. You really are a most remarkable man,” Erik murmurs, and Charles laughs.

“You and Emma bring it out in me.”

“Some of our best work, in that case.”


	15. Chapter 15

Emma hasn't been taking new patients for the past year, knowing full well that a new mother doesn't have much time, but she's still doing her best by the ones she has. She specializes in the difficult cases, borderline, reactive attachment disorder, and post-trauma counseling for people with traumas like Erik's, and after a long day of intensive work to make sure everyone can survive with fewer appointments, Erik can tell that she's utterly exhausted. Despite having lost his parents before he could legally drive, Erik is well-trained. He makes Emma a chocolate cake and rubs her feet while she eats a full quarter of it. She isn't very far along but is already having trouble fitting into even her forgiving clothes. The relentlessly tailored stuff is all laid away now, for her to either exercise her way back to that fabled 'pre-baby body,' or have them altered once her new dimensions have settled. The cake won't help with that, but she's a long way from gestational diabetes and he did use real butter and eggs.

“You should stop wearing heels,” Erik says, once she has been sufficiently pacified and is picking at the crumbs on her plate.

“I know, but I'm dowdy enough already,” she says, pouting.

Erik laughs. “You're Emma Frost. I don't think you could manage dowdy if you tried.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“I'll help you shop,” Erik adds. He is Emma's favorite of her various fashion consultants, and she smiles down at him. “Wash your hands and have some cake, dear.”

Erik does as ordered, and settles on the couch with a generous slice. Before all this Emma wouldn't have eaten chocolate on this white couch, but everything stainable in the apartment is already covered in thick, transparent plastic. Emma detests how suburban bourgeois it is, but is realistic about what five infants would do to this place without it and knows that she might as well get used to it. Erik had been press-ganged into helping find infant-and-pregnant-woman-safe plastic, and now grimaces as it sticks to the back of his neck where it contacts the back of the couch.

“I know,” Emma says, patting his shoulder. “It's awful.”

“Could be worse.”

“I'm just glad you brought the plants back to mitigate that particular new plastic smell.” She pauses, looking around at them. “And that you took good care of them.”

“Well, I did kidnap them for immoral purposes, it was the least I could do.”

Emma chuckles. “I'm sure they were glad to help.”

Erik can't help blushing. “We have another really involved one in the works, but it doesn't involve forests.”

“Oh?”

“I'm not telling you about it until afterward, Emma. You know that.”

She just sticks her tongue out at him, but doesn't press. She's good that way, and Erik does his utmost to make sure she's comfortable before he goes home. He knows he should just move into the nursery or something, but he takes a great deal of comfort from his home. It's definitely the world's highest concentration of mementos of his parents, and the smooth floors and high ceilings and all the other work of his hands is very comforting. Charles waiting in his bed is just an unexpected bonus. He's dozing, all cuddled up to the pillow, one limp hand curled up by his mouth in the ghost of a child's thumb-sucking, the other resting on the open pages of a book. Erik smiles and comes over quietly, taking the book and tucking a business card between the pages to serve as bookmark before setting it on the bedside table.

“Mmph?” Charles's hand makes a confused pawing gesture that is absolutely adorable, and Erik smiles, climbing in beside him and pulling him close.

“Good evening,” Erik purrs as Charles blinks awake.

“Erik!” He beams sleepily, and nuzzles into Erik's neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse. “Welcome home.”

Erik sighs, arranging them a little more comfortably. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Good. I was afraid it might be a bit stalkerish, but I did say I would come over.”

“You wouldn't have a key if I wasn't pretty much always glad to see you, Charles.” He kisses Charles's cheek and revels in the happy little noise he makes before turning his head and claiming Erik's mouth.

Charles winds up fucking Erik slow and deep, almost rocking him to sleep. Erik clings to him and lets out little whimpers and moans that make him blush even as they escape his mouth. Charles covers him in kisses, hands all over him and touching slow and sure as Charles murmurs that Erik is perfect, beautiful and strong and elegant, like a lion or a tiger or a shark.

Afterward, Erik murmurs, “Do you still want me to be a shark?” He has been gathering props and making more blood, but he still needs Charles's input.

“You are a shark, Erik, I just want to celebrate it.”

Erik chuckles. “Well. A shark-god, with his fearful but willing sacrifice.”

Charles shivers and snuggles closer. “I like that idea.”

“I thought you might,” Erik says, grinning.

“I think no blindfold this time. You said you missed seeing my face.”

“I did,” Erik says, nuzzling into Charles's hair. “You have a very expressive face.”

“So I've been told. I think we should use the blue-green light, dimmed.”

“An undersea grotto? I was thinking the same.”

“Wonderful.”

Erik smiles, and bites Charles's ear, making him shiver happily. “I'm glad we agree on the important things, lamb. I'll let you decide what kind of deity I am and why I need you.”

“The time after this you get to script.”

“Mm.. I look forward to it.”

For now, though, Erik changes into a robe and Charles pulls on one of his over-sized t-shirts and a pair of boxers, and they head down to the kitchen so Erik can feed Charles reheated leftovers. He's still full of curry and cake from running around with Emma all day, and arranges Charles on his lap to cuddle and pet him while he eats, murmuring softly into his ear about fattening him up for sacrifice. The words, their tone, and the warmth of Erik's breath all make Charles shudder, and by the end of his meal he's hard again, moaning as Erik wraps one hand around his cock, the fingers of the other pushing into his mouth.


	16. Chapter 16

Setting up the workroom is always a sort of meditative experience for Erik. Now he hums softly to himself as he places and disguises two kiddie pools, carefully measuring out sea salt for each one before filling them with water. Nothing is really going to make a basement room smell like the sea, but it helps. The dimmed blue-green lighting does too, along with some careful draping to make the block look like a conveniently table-like rock outcropping. He wishes he could do more to create the seaside grotto they need, but the magic of imagination isn't just for children. Everything in place, he goes upstairs to shower and to prepare. They're going to start the moment Charles hits the door, something Erik has never done before. He hopes it isn't too much, and turns off all the lights ten minutes before Charles is due to arrive, cracking blue and green glowsticks everywhere. He switches on the various small speakers he has placed around, all looping the same recording of waves on the shore, and takes a deep breath.

Charles unlocks the door and comes in, slipping out of his shoes and hanging up his long coat. He's completely naked underneath, and stands just inside the door, feet apart, expression defiant. Erik grins at him, and stalks up to him in the blue-green light. They've decided that Charles is a prisoner of war being sacrificed to a hungry god, but that like the ogre scene, he'll eventually be willing. Erik circles around him, and Charles shivers, wrists crossed behind his back and gaze fixed a thousand miles beyond Erik.

Erik smiles, darting in to bite Charles's arm. Charles gasps, and Erik does it again and again, feeling out the shape of Charles's arm and shoulder and neck with his teeth. He does feel like a curious animal, and grins at Charles's quick, voiced breaths, desperate little high-pitched noises.

“Delicious,” Erik growls, and Charles whines, and then forces his voice lower when he speaks.

“I am given in tribute by your people, sea god.”

“Beautiful tribute,” Erik says, biting Charles's chest and making his cock twitch. “They have done well to conquer you.” He bites hard again, Charles's shoulder this time.

“Oh...”

“Yes,” Erik growls into his flesh, holding Charles almost too tight for a moment before picking him up and carrying him again, through the dim, sea-lit house and down the stairs. Charles whimpers and clings, so vulnerable that it makes something twist in Erik's gut. He's already thinking of putting down a safer surface, but for now he just relies on his own balance and strength and gets Charles to the workroom without incident. He's running wave sounds down here, but more quietly, the sloshing water providing sounds of its own. Charles trembles, and lets out a little cry as Erik bites his neck, and then keens desperately as he holds on, vicious and hungry. “I want your blood, little one,” Erik growls, and Charles gasps and struggles. It's purposefully weak, though, and Erik has an easy time getting Charles into one of the pools, bathing him in saltwater and purring about how sweet he'll taste, how much the scent of his blood will overwhelm Erik. Charles moans, opening his legs as Erik slides a hand between them to gently squeeze his cock.

“My perfect sacrifice,” Erik purrs, and Charles cries out, the sound breaking. “Yes, sweet boy, you're perfect.”

“Oh, please...” Charles's voice has taken on that desperate note, needy and lost, like he's afraid that after all of Erik _won't_ eat him.

“You want it now?” Erik asks, biting again. “You want me to devour you?”

“Please! I give myself to the sea,” Charles gasps, and yelps as Erik lifts him up again.

“Good,” Erik says, and takes him to the block, stretching him out on it and licking a long streak of saltwater off of his belly and chest, making him shiver and mewl. He writhes and begs as Erik binds him in place. The rustle of plastic is an irritant, but almost nothing could take them out of this now. Soon Charles is secure, and watches with huge eyes as Erik brings out the knives. “I don't have the proper teeth in this form, little one, but I'll enjoy you all the same.” Charles just whimpers, so hard his cock is throbbing with his heartbeat, his whole body trembling lightly. Erik smiles, and bites the corner of Charles's jaw, raking his teeth down and then biting his neck again, making him moan so loudly that Erik is glad they're in the basement.

“So beautiful,” Erik coos, drying Charles's chest. He'll disinfect afterward, so nothing interferes with the taste. Charles just whimpers, melting back into the block, completely ceding control to Erik, who shudders and selects the sharp twin of the knife he used as the ogre. “Ready?”

“Please,” Charles begs, voice cracking a bit as his eyes fill with tears. “Green,” he adds before Erik can inquire as to the nature of those tears, and then shudders and gasps as Erik licks them up.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, and then climbs up to straddle Charles. They've talked about this, of course. How deep Charles likes (not very, to Erik's relief) and where. Now Erik's hands are perfectly steady as he starts to make horizontal cuts, one under each collarbone and then on down, red lines on Charles's white skin. At the first one Charles sobs, and at the second he starts to keen again, thin and helpless. Erik shudders, and makes the rest of the cuts carefully. Charles had said that one dozen is a good number, and Erik forces himself to make them all, tenderly parting Charles's skin. Cutting always fascinates Erik, the act of opening another body like this, of being _allowed_ to. He glances up at Charles's face between cuts, groaning softly at how dark and glassy his eyes are. Shark gods don't kiss, as a general rule, but Erik can't resist. Charles sighs through his nose, surrendering even more completely, and then cries out as Erik bites his lower lip. He does it a little harder than he meant to, but manages to let go in favor of running his tongue along each cut in turn. It's intoxicating, the sweet-metal taste of Charles's very life.


	17. Chapter 17

Any time Erik gets to taste blood seems to just spin out and out, a blissful eternity. And this blood belongs to Charles, so Erik is drunk with it. By the time he actually lines his cock up against Charles's, neither of them is going to need much contact. Charles sobs and rocks his hips up against Erik, tossing his head and making high-pitched, breathless sounds. He's begging again, and Erik grinds down on him, rough and slow.

“Beautiful,” he growls, “so fucking beautiful and so delicious.” He bites Charles's shoulder, and holds on as Charles gasps, screams, and comes. Erik moans and drops down to lick Charles clean, swallowing up his soft cock and gently biting the base. Charles gasps and cries out in something that sounds like a second orgasm, and Erik shudders, holding on until it passes.

“Oh god...” Charles groans, deep and rusty. “Oh fuck, oh _Erik_...”

Erik crawls up to kiss him again, and Charles whimpers into his mouth. Erik bites gently, and then moves down to suck another taste of blood from one of the closing cuts, making Charles shudder and mewl. Erik groans, and ruts against Charles's thigh until he comes in breathless silence, mouth hanging open as his hips thrust out of his control.

It takes Erik a long time to catch his breath, but he finally does, kissing Charles and hopping to the floor. He unties Charles one limb at a time, soothing the faint marks with rings of kisses. Charles just moans softly, lying there and letting Erik disinfect and bandage his cuts. He hisses a little at the sting, but smiles when Erik asks if he's all right.

“So much better than all right, love, you don't even know.”

“Good,” Erik murmurs, and bathes the salt from Charles's skin and dries him off before carrying him to the cot and tucking him in. Once he's sure Charles is comfortable, Erik deserts him just long enough to switch off the wave sounds upstairs and to gather the glowsticks, throwing them into the pools and and then cuddling in beside Charles, watching the shifting green and blue glow on the ceiling. Charles falls into a deep sleep, and doesn't even wake when Erik gets tired of being in the workroom and carries him upstairs again, installing him in the real bed and then wandering into the kitchen, mouth watering as he trims the fat from organic, minimally-processed pork. Erik tries not to spoil himself too much, but meat quality is an indulgence he'll never give up. He seasons the flesh and sets it to roast, cleaning everything with the weird, ritualistic fervor that scenes like this leave him with. That done, he moves on to peeling and chopping vegetables, and has them roasting alongside the meat by the time Charles comes wandering out, looking small and adorable in Erik's purple bathrobe.

“Cooking me?”

Erik blushes, because he is half hard again. “Maybe a little.”

“I smell promising,” Charles says, and laughs, peeking into the oven. Usually this irritates Erik because the oven light was invented for a reason, but Charles doesn't keep the door open long enough to let out too much heat. Besides, Erik isn't sure irritation is physically possible for him right now. Instead, he just hugs Charles from behind, nuzzling into his hair.

“Are you all right, lamb? I didn't cut too deep or bite too hard?”

Charles shivers. “I'll be sore for a bit, but that's half the fun.”

“All right,” Erik murmurs, and he can hear Charles's smile.

“You worry too much.”

“Only because I really do want to eat you up sometimes.”

Charles turns in Erik's arms, looking up at him very seriously. “Erik, you have my word that I will never let you hurt me more than I want.” Erik kisses him, winding a hand into his hair to hold him in place. He's as gentle with Charles as he was rough earlier, reassuring himself that he's human and not a shark, that he's more than a predator. Charles seems to know all of this without being told, and he's very gentle with Erik as they wait on the food, steering him to an armchair and then settling in his lap. Both of them are hard again by the time everything is ready, but too hungry for anything but hand jobs, though Erik does lick everything up again, making Charles swear that they're going to have to do this again if he doesn't stop.

“Thank god I've got toys,” Erik says, laughing. Charles grins back, and somehow they manage to hold it together and eat properly, but after that it's hopeless, and Erik actually leaves the dishes in the sink to fuck Charles deep and slow, pressing kisses to all his little wounds.

They're still tangled up in the sheets when Emma calls the next morning to tell Erik about a bizarre and truly horrible dream of giving birth to a hundred babies with smooth voids instead of faces. Currently on flex-time, Erik elects to throw a few things into his briefcase and go over to help Emma take the paranoia off the day. He's well-acquainted with nightmares, and knows how they can throw things off for hours after waking. Charles isn't expected anywhere until late in the afternoon, and tags along after Erik makes a quick call to be sure that he will be welcome.

Emma meets them with fresh-squeezed orange juice and delivered egg burritos, still piping hot. Her dire prophecy about the second trimester has come true, and her calculated necessary daily caloric intake is a truly appalling number. “If my mother could see me now,” she mumbles, halfway through her sixth burrito.

“You actually are radiant,” Charles tells her. “Even with the nerves.”

“Thank you, dear. I feel like a cow, but I have to look after my girls.”

He smiles. “I can only imagine. I'm protective enough of my kids, and they're all teenagers.”

“Your kids?”

Invitation thus given, Charles tells them all about the little group of kids he's tutoring this summer. Two of them are just in their undergrad and want a little help from a friend, and the others are 'disadvantaged youth' and 'non-traditional students.' Charles of course sees boundless potential in all of them, and his paternal pride in their achievements is really very sweet.


	18. Chapter 18

Charles has been acting different for a while now, and has dropped a few hints about seeing some utterly wonderful man. Not a big surprise, they all know he's bi, but this is the sixth study session in a row that he's been hiding injuries. Sure, people get up to some kinky shit, but the regularity and severity of Charles's cuts and bruises points to something really ugly. The thought of Charles's 'wonderful' boyfriend thinking he has the right to slap Charles around makes Alex see red and feel like he's about to explode. It doesn't help that he confides in Darwin and Darwin just gets that worried look. Darwin is a lot smarter than Alex, so if _he's_ worried things are probably dire.

It's Darwin who actually tries the direct route, taking Charles aside and talking to him gently for a while. It's annoying to see Charles's look of concern turn to amusement and then open laughter so loud that one of the library ladies glares and shushes him. Charles hushes, but still looks amused before finally switching to concern again, but for Darwin rather than himself. He speaks gently to Darwin, and draws him back to the group.

Somehow, Alex waits until the session is over to drag Darwin into the bathroom and demand to know what Charles said. Darwin smiles, and says that apparently all the marks come from 'consensual bedroom activities,' making it none of their business. Darwin seems convinced, and Alex is caught between exasperation with him and worry for Charles. It's just the kind of lie their teacher would tell them if he really _was_ getting slapped around, banking on it making them too uncomfortable to investigate further. Well, it takes a lot to make Alex Summers give up, as was witnessed by the foster system when he fought them tooth-and-nail for custody of Scott. If Darwin won't help him, he'll just have to do this on his own.

It doesn't take much effort to get the boyfriend's address. Charles has a lot of his business cards and absentmindedly uses them as bookmarks and scratch paper. Turns out Mr. Wonderful is Erik Lensherr, owner and founder of Lensherr Industries. He's smart enough not to have his address just hanging out, but with a little help from Hank, Alex gets hold of it. He feels like some kind of crazy stalker as he cases the joint, but there's a sleek car that's powerful without being flashy parked out front, and it's late on a Sunday morning. There will probably be no better time.

Despite his criminal history, Alex has never been particularly sneaky. The direct approach appeals to him, and while he doesn't think of himself as a flawless judge of character, he knows that meeting Erik will give him more to work with. He presses the bell and doesn't think about what he's going to say when Erik answers, because over-thinking is what trips people up.

The door opens, and damn, Erik Lensherr is _fine_. There are a few images of him online, but they don't really do him justice. Relaxed and unshaven in jeans and the classic white, ribbed undershirt, he looks fucking lickable. “Yes?”

“Uh... hey. I'm one of Charles's students.”

“...You are?”

“Yeah. I'm here to make sure you're all right.” Alex hates it when he opens his mouth and the truth insists on coming out, but Erik just laughs, flashing perfect teeth and crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that's really adorable even if he is going to have wicked crow's feet when he gets old.

“Why don't you come in, then?” Alex walks in and looks around, stunned at how nice the interior is. “Coffee?” Erik asks, padding into the kitchen.

“Please,” Alex mumbles, still looking around. The wood in here is so fucking nice, and those archways must be custom, not that Alex knows much about home renovation.

“Cream or sugar?” Erik calls.

“Uh, both, please. You're being weirdly cool about this.”

“Probably because I'm weird. I do want to see your ID, though. If it doesn't say 'Alex Summers' I'm afraid you'll have to take your coffee to go.” Alex laughs, and trades Erik his driver's license for a steaming cup of sweet, creamy coffee. “Oh, good. So, what do you need to know about me?”

Alex completely fumbles this opening, and somehow they end up talking about cars, sitting on the couch like good friends having coffee together on a lazy Sunday morning. This is probably what makes Alex so desperate that when Erik vanishes to shower and put on fresh clothes, he gets up and starts snooping in earnest.

He's not sure how much time he has, but a basement door is too much to resist. People keep their fucked up shit in the basement, anyway. The first door from the bottom of the stairs is just a bathroom, nice and clean and not very interesting. Alex isn't sure what he's expecting when he moves to the next door, but there is no preparing for what he sees.

There is a fucking butcher's block. It's just sitting there, at the right height for Erik to hack up something human-size. There's a hook and a drain in the center of the floor and Alex thinks he might be in shock. There's an actual diagram of how to cut up a human body for meat hanging on the wall, and that's what breaks him. He turns around and bolts out the door, hoping to god that the coffee wasn't drugged. There might be a basement exit, but Alex doesn't want to chance it. If he can just get up the stairs and out the door, he'll... well, probably just call the cops and hug Scott really tight. He hangs onto that idea, taking the steps three at a time and letting out something that's a scream of a terror and a war-cry at the same time when Erik appears at the head of the stairs. There's no real way around him, so Alex is going to have to go through him.


	19. Chapter 19

The first thing that Erik really got into after his parents' death was Krav Maga. For about three weeks he had contemplated growing up to be Jewish Batman, but had in the end had proved too well-adjusted and undisciplined for that. Besides, Emma would have kicked his ass. He hasn't really kept up his training over the last few years, but when Alex comes hurtling up from the basement and launches himself at Erik, Erik plows straight into it and gives Alex an elbow to the head that makes him fall back. He only doesn't break his neck tumbling down the stairs because Erik catches him, grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling him away to throw him down on the couch. Seeing his assailant semiconscious and rather pitiful, Erik gets him some water and painkillers, still tense and adrenalized.

Alex groans when Erik sets the glass down on the coffee table, and Erik sighs. “Take it easy, I hit pretty hard.”

“What the fuck?” Alex mumbles, sitting up slowly, eyes still a little glassy.

“A lesson for life, Alex: never attack a man in his own home when his parents were killed in a hate crime. It makes him nervous, and he overreacts.”

“...What the fuck?”

Erik sighs, pulling a multitool out of his pocket. Alex flinches, but relaxes a bit when Erik folds out the flashlight rather than any of the blades. “I'm not going to kill you or anyone else, least of all Charles. I take it you saw the workroom? Follow the light, I want to make sure I didn't crack your skull.”

“The _workroom_?” Alex squawks, even as his reassuringly symmetrical pupils track the light. “What the fuck?”

Erik snorts, pocketing the light again. “You sound like a broken record, shut up.”

Alex frowns in confusion, and then winces and puts a hand to his head. “You and Charles..?”

“Are in a relationship that we're both enjoying very much. The only reason I haven't called the police is that I know you've acted with the best motives.”

Alex blinks, looking baffled and very young. “Shit, that doesn't usually count in my favor.”

“I care about Charles very much,” Erik tells him, because he'll be damned if he uses the l-word with an interfering student before he says it to Charles himself.

“So what the fuck is with the workroom?” Alex asks, a clear subtext of _you fucking freak_ in his tone.

Erik flushes in embarrassment and irritation. “It's part of a fantasy between two consenting adults, and it's not illegal and it's not immoral and fuck you.”

“...Seriously?”

Erik sighs, sits down beside Alex and pulls out his phone, calling Charles. While he waits for an answer, Alex inspects the pills and then takes them, gulping down the water and wincing again.

“Erik, love,” Charles says, sounding distracted, “you know I'm trying to research today.”

“I know, but something has come up.” 

“Oh?”

“One of your concerned students showed up at my doorstep and there was a misunderstanding.”

“...Oh, no.”

“Yes.”

“Shit. I'll be right over.”

Erik and Alex pass Charles's transit time in awkward silence. Turning on the tv seems asinine, and Erik is much too tense to read. Alex just watches him warily, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and presumably nursing one hell of a headache. It seems like forever, but it can't be much more than fifteen minutes when Charles lets himself in.

“Alex, what happened?” he says, going to his student first, like a good teacher.

“...Uh.” Alex rubs his head, looking sheepish. “Well I thought maybe like, domestic violence was happening. So I came here to meet Erik to get a read on him for myself. And then I looked in the basement.”

Charles goes bright red all the way down to the open collar of his shirt. “Alex...”

“So you know about it?” The relief in the boy's voice makes something twist in Erik's chest.

Charles seems to feel the same and his voice is very gentle when he says, “Yes, Alex. I do know.”

Alex just sits there with wide eyes for a moment, assimilating this information. “Well, shit, teach. I'd way rather have you be that kinky than dating a serial killer.”

“Good.” He turns to Erik at last. “Are you all right?”

Erik isn't quite, but he nods. There's a moment of silence, and then Alex asks, “You do know about the meat chart, right?”

Charles blushes again, burying his face in one palm and sighing. “Yes, Alex. I _really_ don't feel comfortable discussing my sex life with you. All you need to know is that Erik is not going to kill anyone, and that my cuts and bruises really are made with my consent or via honest household accident.”

“Okay. Sorry I freaked out, Erik.”

“You're forgiven for that but not for prying.” Now that things seem to be resolving safely Erik feels cold and drained. And of course, defensively angry with Alex for frightening him. He takes a deep breath and resolves to keep his temper. The kid only came here out of concern for Charles, after all, and even if he is a nasty little sneak Erik has to respect that concern.

“...Sorry, man. Thanks for not just throwing me down the stairs.” Alex gets up, looking deeply awkward. “So, uh, I'll just go.”

Charles gives him bus fare and tells him to mind his own business in future, and then they're suddenly alone, Alex walking off toward the bus stop. “Are you really all right?” Charles asks, moving closer.

“No,” Erik mutters, thinking how proud of his emotional honesty Emma would be.

“I was afraid of that,” Charles says, and crawls into Erik's lap, the weight warm and comforting. Erik wraps his arms around Charles and hides his face in his shoulder.

“He scared me,” Erik mutters after a long moment of just breathing in Charles's scent.

“I'm sorry,” Charles says softly, stroking Erik's hair.

“I am, because now I don't think I can do our scene tomorrow.”

“That's okay, Erik. It'll keep.”

In all honesty, Erik probably won't be able to do that scene for at least a week out of sheer embarrassment. For now he just holds Charles, and eventually asks him to come along as Erik checks all the locks. “It was a home invasion,” Erik says as he checks the last window.

“...Oh, shit.”

“Yes. I'll be feeling a bit delicate for the next while.”

“Want me to stay with you this week, love?”

Erik does want that, and within the hour they're driving back to Charles's apartment so he can collect his things.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik is supposed to go to the office on Monday morning, but he takes a mental health day and spends the morning in bed, wrapped around Charles from behind and soothed by his slow, deep breathing. It had taken him years to start feeling safe again in the wake of his parents's murder, but he's honestly a bit embarrassed to be such a nervous wreck now, after nearly concussing one stupid kid who was already terrified of him. But Emma was right when she said that trauma is always there. Erik feels distressingly close to his devastated thirteen-year-old self, and he whimpers, burying his face in Charles's shoulder.

“Erik, love?”

“Sorry I woke you,” Erik mutters, still clinging.

“It's okay.” Charles manages to eel around in Erik's grip, tucking Erik's head in under his chin and holding him close. “I was on my way up anyway.”

Like Emma, Charles really does seem to be able to read minds. He doesn't go out of Erik's sight all day, and makes pot after pot of milky tea. Neither of them even bother to get dressed, and Charles never complains when Erik gets up to check the locks and insists that Charles come with him. He's not sure what he's going to do when Charles actually has to leave, but for now he just holds his hand and is grateful.

By late afternoon Erik is recovered enough to let Charles lead him to bed after one last check of the locks. “It's all right,” Charles murmurs, kissing Erik's hand.

“Yeah,” Erik says softly, and lets Charles make all the major decisions for the next few minutes. Flat on his back with Charles over him, Erik actually does feel secure, and when Charles pushes into him he moans, loud and deep. The second he can speak he's begging for more and deeper. Somehow 'fuck me' turns into 'feed me,' and Erik whimpers, humiliated and helpless and feeling his heartbeat in his cock.

“Yes, love,” Charles murmurs into his mouth, “yes.' He slides his clean hand under Erik's head and guides him to bite down on the crook of his neck, easing one slick finger in beside his cock. Erik wails, losing his grip on Charles before biting him again, muffling a moan in his flesh. “God, Erik...” Charles breathes, sliding halfway out and thrusting slowly in again. Erik whimpers and keeps his grip on Charles. “Is this enough, love? I want to fill you up.”

“M-more, please,” Erik pants, and bites his lip as Charles starts to add a second finger. His eyes fly open when Charles stops, and Charles smiles like Erik has done something cute.

“No.” He lightly taps Erik's nose, and then guides him to bite the other shoulder. Once Erik has a good grip, Charles pushes in again, with two fingers this time. Erik groans and shakes, feeling stretched and stuffed.

“Give me your other hand,” Erik whispers, and Charles brings it around so Erik can grab it and guide the first two fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as Charles fucks him faster and harder.

“God, Erik,” Charles gasps, slamming into Erik and making his eyes roll back as he pulls Charles's last two fingers into his mouth, stretching his lips and making him groan. “Want to give you everything,” Charles growls, the bed rocking now, “want to fill you up and stretch you out.”

Erik keens through his nose, a higher sound than he even knew he could make, and comes with neither of them touching his cock, something that has only happened a few times before. Charles groans and fucks him through it, fingers pumping in and out of Erik's mouth, sliding along his tongue and making him moan. It almost feels like his orgasm is still going on, just relocated to his mouth. He whimpers, eyes filling with tears. Charles tries to slide his fingers out to ask for a color, but Erik grabs his wrist to keep his hand where it is, using his hips and the grip of his legs on Charles to encourage him to keep moving. Charles shudders and bucks into him a few more times before crying out and biting Erik's shoulder as he comes deep inside him. Erik moans, and finally releases Charles's fingers. Both of them are whimpering softly, a pair of trembling wrecks. Charles hides his face in the crook of Erik's neck and they don't say anything for a long time, just breathing together.

“Wow,” Charles finally says, and Erik bursts out laughing.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Feeling a bit better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

There isn't much else to say to that. They take a long nap and damn the wet spot, finally waking up to change the sheets and have an extremely late dinner. Erik actually does feel slightly less paranoid, but he still jumps when his phone rings. It's Emma, gripped by insomnia and wondering if she would be interrupting anything.

“Charles and I had a long and late nap, so we're only just having dinner. You're welcome to join us.”

“I'll bring something. And more baby pictures, of course.”

Erik smiles. “Of course.”

Emma arrives soon after her call, bearing ultrasound images and a rotisserie chicken, which will pair nicely with the leftover pasta and steamed vegetables Erik has thrown together. Emma looks him up and down the second she comes through the door and asks him what happened.

“You really are good, aren't you?”

“You don't take naps, Erik, and you usually bother to shave. Out with it.”

He tells her about his encounter with Alex over dinner, and finds himself trying to excuse the kid's creeping around the way he had because Emma is starting to look murderous. “Look, he had no idea about my personal history and he thought I was going to kill him.”

“Yes, and if he respected anyone's privacy, this wouldn't have happened,” Emma growls.

“You're welcome to yell at him, Emma,” Charles says, “but remember that he is the sole legal guardian of a minor child, and a student of mine. Leave him in one piece.”

“...Would two large pieces be all right?”

Charles stares for a moment, and then laughs. It's contagious, the way Charles's laughter usually is, and Erik presses a kiss to his temple, inexpressibly glad to have people who care so much.


	21. Chapter 21

Alex feels like such an asshole. The only bright spot in his life right now (besides having Scott around) is that Darwin is too nice to say 'I told you so.' Instead he just listens to the whole thing, checks Alex's eyes again because he's totally actually a responsible adult where Alex is just pretending. Apparently Alex's head really isn't cracked, because it's been like, six hours and everything still looks all right.

“So, now that you've snuck around this man's house, freaked him out, and made Charles talk to you about his kinks, what are you going to do?”

Alex groans and eats some more aspirin. “I know. I'm such an asshole.”

Darwin sits down beside him on the scarred up secondhand loveseat , and puts an arm around him. “No, you're not. A real asshole would feel totally justified.”

He chuckles, and leans on Darwin because Darwin is so huggy that it's not gay (except for how it kind of is.) “I guess so. But I mean, the guy is never going to want to see me again, so what the fuck can I do? It's not like I have five thousand dollars to leave under his doormat.”

“Five? Damn, did you find fursuits? No, I know you're not telling, and you shouldn't, but wow.” He shrugs. “Always suspected Charles was a freak.”

“Total freak,” Alex agrees, “and I really wish I didn't know about it. Not like I care as long as they're both into it, it's just Awkward.”

Things get even more Awkward the next day. Alex is at the library, researching for a paper and cursing the day he got suckered into going to college on the taxpayer's dime, when an enormous person in white comes in. He's looking back at this stupid literary criticism book when reflected light tells him that a whole bunch of white fabric has suddenly come his way. He looks up and sees that it's a hugely pregnant woman in some kind of muumuu thing, and she looks _pissed_.

“Uh, ma'am?” he tries, reverting to childhood programming.

“Alex Summers?”

“Yes ma'am.”

She settles her massive bulk in the chair beside him. “I am Emma Frost. A friend of Erik Lensherr's.”

“Oh, shit. Look, ma'am, I know I snooped where I shouldn't have and I'm sorry I did.”

“That's a start.” She then goes on to detail all the smarter alternatives to what Alex actually did, his stupidity in not listening to Charles, and his stupidity of confronting Erik, a man with significant martial arts training, a vast knife collection, and a handgun. She concludes that Alex is lucky to be alive, and that he's such an interfering idiot that he may not deserve it. He can't really dispute that, and when she drags him over to one of the digital archives and pulls up an old article on the murder of Jakob and Edie Lensherr he feels like he's going to throw up.

“Oh shit, seriously?” He grimaces, as he reads about the home invasion that killed the pair, and about their thirteen-year-old son being the one to find them. Alex groans quietly and thumps his head on the surface of the desk. “I belong dead.”

“Maybe, but why rush things?” Emma says.

“So what am I gonna do about it?” Alex asks. “It's not like he needs to be read to to help him through his morphine withdrawal.”

“Wonderful, you _are_ literate.”

“Stupid and ignorant aren't the same.”

She laughs then, and he can actually appreciate her beauty. She was beautiful before, so is a tiger as it eats you, and presumably its victim cares as little as Alex had earlier. “You're far from hopeless, Alex.”

“Still, it's not like he's ever going to answer the door when I come by again...”

“You'll think of something,” Emma says, heaving her bulk upright again, pausing for a moment with her hands resting protectively on the globe of her belly. “I have faith in you.”

“That makes one of us,” Alex mutters, and watches her waddle away. It takes days of thought, but Alex finally does settle on a course of action. It takes another day to get things in order and appeal to Scott, but at last they're headed down the sidewalk toward Erik's house. Within sight of their destination, Alex passes the package to Scott and sends him on ahead. Scott marches right up to the door with his hideous fucking glasses and neatly tucked in shirt and his ironed jeans. Alex wonders where the kid gets it, sometimes, and settles down to wait.

The car is in the driveway again, but Scott stands on the front step for a long time before Erik opens it. He stares down at Scott, and then they have a brief conversation before Erik ushers Scott into the house. Alex can't help tensing all over, and it feels like a fucking eternity before the door opens again. Scott comes out empty-handed, and waves to Erik before bounding down the stairs and running up to Alex, who hugs him tightly.

“How'd it go?”

“Pretty good. He's a nice guy, Alex.”

“Yeah, I should've known. Is he feeling any better?”

“He says he is, and that he forgives you as long as you've learned your lesson.”

Alex grimaces. “Here's hoping I have.”

“Even if you have you'll just do some other dumb thing,” Scott says, and Alex laughs, lightly slugging him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'd argue if you weren't totally right.”

“So, now that you owe me...”

“Yeah, I'm on it. Turns out there's this fu-freaking amazing ice cream shop like, three blocks from here.”

“Awesome.”

Scott really is an old man in a little kid's body. His nigh-unvarying order of a tin roof sundae is proof enough of that, but it's the way he chides Alex for upsetting Mr. Lensherr that really seals the deal. Alex is sick of being lectured about his failings, but Scott has just done him a solid, so he nods at the right places and eats his banana split.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Emma approaches Alex at the library she looks approximately like [this](http://almostautumn.tumblr.com/post/87556182165/neairaalenko-femmadilemma-hobbitkaiju).


	22. Chapter 22

Erik is still feeling a little Pavlovian fear response to people at the door, but thanks to Emma and Azazel visiting he's able to get up and answer, keeping his breathing even. He isn't sure just who he might be expecting, but it's definitely not a kid who looks about nine, holding a gift bag and gazing very seriously up at Erik through a pair of the most hilarious glasses he has ever seen.

“Mr. Lensherr?”

“Yes?”

“Hi. I'm Scott Summers. Alex sent me with a gift and a letter because he's sorry he upset you.”

“...Why don't you come in?”

The boy does, looking around for a moment and then following Erik into the kitchen. With scotch for Erik and a glass of milk for Scott, they can settle down comfortably and Scott can explain his purpose more fully. Erik opens the package to find a model kit for a three-masted schooner, with a truly fiendish number of parts. “We figured you liked to build things.”

“You figured right,” Erik says softly, old memories of his father helping him with model planes bubbling to the surface.

“Good,” Scott says. “I'm sorry Alex bothered you. He's kind of irresponsible.”

Erik chuckles at the understatement. “I've noticed. Thank you for the kit and the apology.”

“I helped pick it out.”

“You chose well.” The kid brightens at that, and they talk about the travails of fourth grade and other matters until Scott finishes his milk and says that he ought to get back to Alex, who is apparently lingering about half a block away, figuring that Erik never wants to see him again.

“Tell him I forgive him as long as he's learned his lesson.”

Scott promises to do just that, and Erik watches him run down the block with the boundless energy of kids his age. Going back inside, he sets the model kit aside and reads Alex's letter, which is short and to the point. He's sorry, he's not going to tell anyone anything, and in light of Erik's history, he really, really hopes that he hasn't fucked him up more. Erik chuckles and tucks the letter into his desk drawer. He is feeling better, and is able to greet Charles with a genuine smile when he comes home three hours later.

Erik has actually started the model, the coffee table covered in parts, and once he's done kissing Charles hello, Charles looks over his shoulder at it and smiles. “So, you went out after all?”

“Sorry, this came to me.” He tells Charles about Scott's visit, and Charles seems torn between irritation at Alex for sending Scott to do his dirty work, and profound amusement. In the end he defaults to the latter, and settles in to help Erik with his ship. Time in the genetics lab has made him excellent at manipulating small parts, and unlike a lot of people who try to help build models, Charles is actually a help. Dinner is already in the oven, perfuming the air with baking cheese, and the whole scene is almost appallingly domestic.

“So, what are you cooking?”

“Mac and cheese. It's a family recipe.”

“Wonderful.” Charles doesn't say anything about another meatless dinner. Erik has been through this before. When Magda walked out on him he had spent days living on peanut butter sandwiches, repulsed by his own enjoyment of meat. He can tell that he's doing much better with this exposure trauma because he still feels like he deserves hot food. Then again, he hasn't lost anything but face this time. Filled with sudden and painful gratitude, he cups Charles's face in his hands and kisses him, soft and chaste and lingering. Charles beams at him when he pulls away, and Erik smiles back.

“I'm glad I know you.”

“Likewise, Erik.”

Their moment is interrupted by the oven timer, and they get up to set the table and eat. Baked macaroni and cheese is one of Erik's comfort foods. The recipe is his mother's, and he's stupidly glad to see how much Charles likes it. It's only when their plates are cleared that Charles shyly asks about that scene of theirs, so rudely put off.

“I wouldn't rush you for the world,” he says, poking at the few remaining noodles on his plate, “I was just wondering how you were feeling about it now.”

Erik sighs. “Well, I don't think I'll be able to do it as planned for a long time.”

“I know, love.”

The plan had been for Erik to drag Charles down to the basement and butcher him over his protests, the setting some fantastical world where pretty boys make up for food shortfalls. Every time his kink is found out, Erik recoils from his more predatory roles. The wicked butcher who delights in slicing up poor, innocent boys is not a person he feels comfortable being just now, and he tells Charles so, halting and shy.

Charles smiles. “What about a butcher going into another boring day at work only to find an incorrigible boy who really wants to be eaten, and coaxes him into enjoying his work?”

Erik smiles back. “Yeah, I guess I could see that.”

They clean up and settle on the couch to watch 'Ponyo,' because when he's feeling tense and/or unsafe, what Erik wants is clean, wholesome family entertainment, and he doesn't care what anyone says. Charles leans on him comfortably, and the story has barely begun when Emma calls.

“Yes, princess?” He says, loosing his grip on Charles just enough for him to lean over and grab the remote and hit 'pause.'

“Hello, Erik. Would it be a bother if I came over? Azazel is gone again and I can feel paranoia coming on.”

“Come on over, we can be paranoid together. Charles is here and we're watching 'Ponyo.'”

“Of course you are,” she says, and he can hear her smile. “I'll be right over.”

“We'll go back to the beginning and wait,” Erik says with a grin, because Emma never wants to watch wholesome family entertainment. “It'll be good practice for you.”

She makes an irritated cat noise and hangs up on him. Erik laughs, and spends a few minutes just kissing Charles before he gets up to find blankets and make cocoa, since when Emma gets here it will officially be a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That day he was amazed to discover that when Erik was saying 'I'm glad I know you', what he meant was, 'I love you.'


	23. Chapter 23

It's cozy on the couch with Emma. She sits in the middle, a huge, warm presence swilling cocoa and hogging the popcorn, nested in a good two-thirds of the blankets. When one of the babies kicks, she takes of Erik's hands and one of Charles's, pressing them to that strange, watery little flutter. Erik smiles, fascinated. When he looks up, Charles is beaming, eyes bright and full of love.

“They're still hanging in there,” she says softly. “And Moira says bed rest doesn't make much difference, so...”

“I have faith in you,” Erik says, and kisses her cheek.

They watch the rest of the movie in a warm cocoon of feelings and blankets, and Erik makes up the guest bed before Emma even asks him to. Once she's settled he has to make another paranoid check of the locks, and Charles comes with him without being asked. Erik takes his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

“Thanks,” is all he says.

“You're more than welcome, Erik.” Charles presses a kiss to Erik's knuckles. There are only a few more windows to check, and Erik is recovered enough to feel silly about the whole thing. That done, he follows Charles to bed and is a bit surprised when Charles arranges them both so that Erik is the little spoon, a position he seldom occupies. It's soothing, though, having Charles plastered against his back like this. He shivers a little when Charles kisses the nape of his neck, and Charles's arms tighten around him. “I've got you, Erik,” he murmurs, and Erik sighs, relaxing.

The next morning Emma is awake before both of them, sipping warm milk with honey. Erik smiles when he wanders down in a pair of jeans and an open robe, and asks her what she wants for breakfast. By the time Charles joins them, Erik has made his Sunday Breakfast of Death, and there's plenty for everyone. Neither of Erik's companions comment on the sudden presence of meat after days of feeling shy about it, and he supposes this restraint is part of why he loves them both so much.

Charles has to go do more of his semi-neglected research and look after some things at home, but Emma's presence softens the blow. She waits in the kitchen so Erik can cover Charles in kisses and thank him for being so understanding in reasonable privacy, and after that it's Take Your Wicked Not-Sister To Work Day. Emma has brought her tablet, healthy snacks, and her adorably stereotypical embroidery, and so is well able to amuse and nourish herself while Erik catches up. She has ordered a lot of baby clothes on the rationale that however many make it, clothes will keep. Little dresses and onesies and caps, comfortable things in cute prints, pure white, and plain colors. She embellishes the latter two herself, putting leaves and flowers on them, or little wings that will rest over tiny shoulder blades, or gamboling kittens on the hem of a dress. Emma works carefully, with tiny, precise stitches. Erik gets a lump in his throat when he pauses in his work to watch her, and so he doesn't pause every often.

He does ask for Emma's help with choosing colors for a new children's park, a task she has performed admirably in the past.

“No, Erik darling, this is magenta, that is fuschia.”

“If you insist. I think true pink might be better, anyway.”

They quibble about it a bit more before she sets the spec sheets down to eat a protein bar and some fruit. “You need more water?” Erik asks.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Always.”

“Please don't talk about the color of your pee again, Emma.”

“Sissy.” She waves him away with an imperious gesture, and Erik chuckles, going out to buy her another two big bottles of spring water from the shop on the ground floor. No vending machine swill for pregnant Emma, naturally. His phone rings while he's standing in line, and he shifts the bottles under one arm to answer it, so delighted to hear from Charles that it's embarrassing.

“Hi, Erik! Have I caught you in the middle of anything?”

“Just serving in my capacity as Emma's indentured servant. I'm about half a dozen back from the counter, we have a moment.”

“Glad to improve your wait, then. You mind if Raven tags along when I come over tonight?”

“As long as she doesn't hang around all night.”

Charles laughs. “She knows better than that. We actually made a pact years ago, but I won't bore you with the details. Oh, and we'll bring dessert and booze, if you like.”

“I do like.”

Whatever the terms of the agreement are, Charles and Raven arrive at half-past six that evening, and Raven gets up and says her farewells at eight, winking at her brother on her way out.

“Told you we had a pact,” Charles purrs, twining his arms around Erik's neck. Erik chuckles, and lifts Charles off the floor, making him squeak. Erik gently bites his neck as he bundles him into his arms, and Charles shivers happily. “I do worry about your lower back, but I can't say I don't love it when you pick me up.”

“Mm. I'll let you know if you get too heavy or I get too weak,” Erik promises, and carries Charles off to bed. The weight is comforting, and he has the feeling that he'll be able to carry Charles for a long time. He doesn't unpack that thought or how much it gratifies him. He just sets Charles down on the bed and ranges over him, gently biting his throat. Charles shivers and tips his head back, thighs opening to cradle Erik, who shudders and works Charles's shirt off as he bites and sucks. “I don't know if I'll be able to pretend to be bored for our butchering scene, lamb.”

“I'm glad to hear we're really still on,” Charles gasps, shuddering as Erik bites his shoulder.

“Day after tomorrow,” Erik assures him, and Charles whines, high and desperate. “Yes,” Erik croons, biting just over Charles's heart. “Going to eat you up, pretty lamb.”


	24. Chapter 24

Erik sighs, feeling truly himself again when the time comes. The workroom is spotless, and all his red knives are razor sharp. The original plan was for blood and clinical brutality, but Erik isn't feeling up to being particularly clinical or brutal, so they'll have to take the issues of cutting and blood as they come. He's actually dressed under his apron, and there's a strange charge to it when Charles walks in, naked except for the GRADE AAA written on his thigh in marker. He had mentioned numbers first, and had then clapped a hand over his mouth in horror. “No, Charles,” Erik had said with a smile that wasn't nearly as mirthless as it could have been, “not numbers.”

Now, though, they're both in character. “Good, you're on time,” Erik says, pulling a white-handled skinning knife out of the roll. “Get on the block, I haven't got all day.”

“I guess not,” Charles says, walking past him and hopping up, studying Erik with those wide eyes as he arranges himself on his back. “They never told me the butcher would be beautiful.”

Erik snorts, glancing up from his knives to look at Charles. “Sweet-talking me won't get you anywhere, long pig. I'm on a schedule.”

“Ohh,” Charles sighs, sitting up and watching Erik pretend to sharpen the knife, “had we but world enough and time...”

“Bah. On your back.”

Charles settles back, smiling up at Erik. “I like to think of you having the meat, but I suppose it will be sold with the rest.”

“At top-shelf prices, yes.”

“Ah, well.” Charles shudders as Erik starts to trace out the cuts, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good boy,” Erik murmurs, and Charles whines and shivers. “...You are very beautiful,” he admits, dragging the just blunt enough tip of the knife over Charles's pale skin.

“Th-thank you,” he gasps. “So are you. Even if you do have to stick to your schedule.”

Erik glances at the battery-powered wall clock he had hung up for verisimilitude, running over an imaginary workday of butchering beautiful boys in his head. “...Maybe we have a few minutes.”

“Oh?” Charles murmurs, going from tumescent to hard as Erik watches.

“Yes, I think so.” Erik climbs onto the block and cups the side of Charles's face in his gloved hand, studying his face like this is really their first meeting.

“Kiss me?” Charles whispers. Erik shudders and leans in, hand sliding to Charles's throat and gently squeezing as he kisses him. Charles moans, keeping his arms obediently at his sides even as he trembles and surges up into the touch. Erik sighs and pushes his tongue into Charles's mouth, suddenly desperate to taste him, like they really are strangers and this is their only chance. Charles whimpers, and when Erik finally pulls away to breathe he shyly asks if he's allowed to touch.

“Yes,” Erik growls, free hand moving to grip his ass. Charles whines and clings to him, crying out as Erik covers his neck in bites.

“Oh, please sir,” he gasps, “please fuck me before you cut me up.”

Erik shudders, kissing him again. “Yes,” he growls, and manages to pull himself away, stripping quickly because he's on the clock. Charles watches with avid eyes and actually licks his lips, distracting enough that Erik pauses to kiss him again, rough and hungry. Finally he has his clothes off, though, and can put two gloved fingers into Charles. He likes to feel him with nothing in the way, but there's also something to be said for the armored slide of leather. Charles's eyes roll back and he bears down, wriggling his hips to take them deeper. For what feels like an eternity Erik just stretches Charles and listens to him moan and beg, but finally neither of them can take any more and Erik peels off his gloves and ranges over Charles again. When he slides into that unbearable tightness and heat he has to hide his face in the crook of Charles's neck, because it's so good he feels almost like he's going to cry. Charles's hole clamps down on him, and Charles pants and whimpers, nails digging into his back. Erik has always liked that and now he cries out because it feels fucking perfect, ten points of fire. His hips buck hard and out of his control, and Charles mewls.

“Yes, sir,” Charles whispers in Erik's ear, “yes, fuck me, fuck me _hard_ , don't hold back, don't--” The rest is lost in a wail as Erik gives him what he wants. The block is steady beneath them, but not for lack of trying, and Charles moans and claws at Erik. When Erik slows down again Charles whines miserably, and Erik chuckles.

“I've still got a job to do, piglet.”

Charles moans, tightening hard. “Please, sir.”

Erik picks up the knife again, testing the edge with his thumb even though he can see the white tape just fine. Finding it smooth and safe, he props himself up on his left arm and drags the blade of Charles's skin, hard enough to make narrow red lines as Charles squirms and groans. Once Charles has been marked out into the basic sections, Erik makes more, hips thrusting slowly as he explains each one. He's using French primal cuts because there are more of them, and he intones their euphonious names as Charles whines and shudders, arching up into the blade.

“You'll be delicious,” Erik murmurs, “tender and rich and sweet.”

“Keep it back for yourself,” Charles gasps, “please.”

Erik shudders and kisses him, speeding up again and making Charles moan into his mouth. “I will,” he says softly, and settles the blade against Charles's throat. There's no safe way to get a hand free, but Charles grabs his own cock, making high, breathless noises as he strokes himself hard and fast. Erik forgets all about his own sensations, too consumed in driving Charles over the edge. A moment later Charles wails and comes, silky-hot against Erik's belly. In the same moment Erik draws the knife across, hard enough to leave a mark. Charles shakes for a long time, clenching around Erik and making him groan, setting the knife down and rocking in for a few more deep strokes. He sinks his teeth into Charles's neck again and comes deep inside him, groaning helplessly.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See notes for an explanation of that Sleeping/Unconscious Sex tag.

Cleaning up doesn't take very long, and for that Erik is profoundly grateful. He gets everything wiped down and put away within a few minutes, and then he carries Charles out of the room, kicking the door shut behind him. Charles is still pretty out of it, and just makes a few confused noises as Erik heads upstairs with him. Right now Erik can't take the concrete of the workroom, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he's in his own bed and wrapped around Charles, holding him tight. After the first few minutes, his hands start to wander. One goes to Charles's throat to caress it and assure himself that it really is whole, and the other slides along the reddened section lines. He repeats both movements over and over, pressed hard against the warmth and breath of Charles.

“Are you all right?” Charles asks at last, catching one hand and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“...Maybe not,” Erik admits, pressing his face to the nape of Charles's neck.

“Poor boy,” Charles murmurs, and starts to cover his hand in little kisses, holding it in both his own and turning it to reach the knuckles, the fingertips, and the pulse point at the wrist. Erik whimpers and hides his face again, trembling when Charles kisses his palm again. “It's all right, Erik. I'm safe, and I knew I would be because I trust you.”

Erik whines, his eyes suddenly filling with tears, and wraps a leg over Charles's hip. It's not sexual at all, really, just a desperate bid to be even closer, to have more evidence that Charles is whole and alive and happy. “I love you, Charles,” he whispers, sounding as broken as he feels. “I love you, I love you, I love you...” It's like all the times he has felt it without saying it are finally spilling out, and he muffles himself against Charles's shoulder, shaking and clinging so hard he knows it has to be hurting Charles a little. He doesn't complain, though, just wraps his arms over Erik's, holding them where they are. When Erik finally relaxes a little, Charles turns in his arms to kiss him. It's soft and slow and deep, and Erik melts into it, tears making wet streaks on his face.

“I love you too, Erik,” he says, eyes bright. “I love you, and I trust you to take care of me.” He kisses him again and Erik is grateful, because the sound trying to emerge from his chest is inhuman. They hold each other for a long time, kissing and murmuring their way down to a shared nap, where Erik dreams of being in a boat on a river, though without tangerine trees or marmalade skies. He wakes up on his belly, Charles's gentle hands tending to the deep scratches on Erik's back. He purrs and stretches, glancing over his shoulder.

“Good morning to you too, lamb.”

Charles grins at him. “More like a cat today, though hopefully with cleaner nails.”

“Mmm.” Erik turns his face to the pillow again and stretches.

“Some of these really are pretty deep.”

“I like it,” Erik tells him, and he can feel Charles shiver.

“Good.” He leans down and kisses the marks, his lips soft and soothing. Erik purrs and squirms under him, and by the time all the scratches are attended to they're both hard again. Erik groans into the pillow and spreads his legs. After a difficult scene Erik loves to get fucked and not have to do anything, and now he just lies there and moans as Charles sets up a steady rhythm, rocking in and out. He covers Erik's neck and shoulders in kisses, whispering in his ear about how good he feels, and how much Charles loves Erik and loves fucking him and loves everything they do together in the workroom. Erik ruts against the sheet and comes in a long, slow shudder. It seems to take forever, and Charles is still hard when it's over. He stills and then starts to move again, slow and steady and deep.

To his eternal embarrassment, Erik actually falls asleep under Charles, feeling too relaxed and exhausted and safe to do anything else. He wakes up in Charles's arms and yawns, prompting a burst of bright laughter. “Back with us, Erik?”

“Mmmyes,” he mumbles, snuggling into the crook of Charles's neck. “...Shit. You got to come, right?”

“I don't generally fuck sleeping people, but it happened before I realized. Is that all right?”

“Yeah,” Erik says, yawning.

“Good. You hungry?”

“Yeah. No meat, please.”

“Potato soup, or should I order something?”

They end up sharing a monstrous order of pad Thai, extra spicy and made with tofu instead of meat. They sit on the couch, Charles almost in Erik's lap as he scarfs the noodles down with a plastic fork and none of his usual grace. They're hungry enough to completely empty the styrofoam container, and then bloated enough to just leave it on the coffee table as they take another almost-nap. Neither of them are actually asleep, but they just lie there for a long time in the lighest of dozes, just breathing together.

Charles has an appointment with his graduate students that afternoon, and after hours of puttering around and doing their own homework (project proposals for Erik and reading on genetics for Charles) as well as playing chess and watching the autumn leaves fall outside, Erik drives him to the library. Erik is sort of shocked to realize how long this has been going on. From spring to fall and through two trimesters of Emma's pregnancy, with no sign of slowing. It has been a very long time since Erik's personal life has felt this secure, and that security is paradoxically terrifying. He is not a fan of public displays of affection and keenly feels his age and gravity, but he just has to kiss Charles when they part at the door. He holds Charles tightly and lingers over it more than he really should, going pink as he releases him

“Sorry,” he murmurs, and Charles grins up at him.

“Don't be.”

Erik laughs, and kisses Charles's forehead before going back to the car. He has the absurd urge to lurk in the stacks until Charles is free again, but he's not a teenager and he has errands to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik comes first while bottoming and physically and emotionally tired from prior sceneing. Charles slows down to let him readjust and then finishes himself off before realizing that Erik, who has been quiet and passive the whole time, has actually drifted off on him. They talk about it when Erik wakes up.


	26. Chapter 26

Naturally, Azazel is out of the country again when Emma needs to move into the Sunrise Birthing Center. Emma has managed to keep the girls where they belong for seven months now, but neither she nor Moira nor Ororo has any illusions about how much longer she'll be able to keep this up. There aren't so very many boxes, but Emma is incapable of truly traveling light, so in the end poor Charles is crammed into the barely-adequate back seat of Emma's car between boxes of muumuus and books, as well as blankets with sentimental value and Diamond, the stuffed white cat Emma had received for her first Christmas. Erik is honestly surprised that Diamond is resting at the top of an open box and not safely buried, feeling something like alarm to see Emma trusting Charles this much.

For his part, Charles just keeps up a steady stream of soothing chatter, easing things along the way he does. Not for the first time, Erik wonders what it's like to be mellow and soft instead of being like metal wire wrapped tight. Today such a state seems even further away than usual. He's glad all over again that his attempt to provide fertilization didn't take. He has the feeling he would be even worse off now. As it is, his caveman streak is rising again, and he feels stupidly overprotective of his lethally competent friend. It doesn't help that Emma actually is feeling fragile now. She's having Erik drive, for fuck's sake. She never does that, and when they arrive, Erik can't help putting an arm around her waist as if she needs help walking. Once she's safely in her room, Erik goes back for the baggage. Charles smiles at him, in the act of hefting a box.

"She'll be okay, Erik."

"I hope so," he says, picking up another box and following Charles back inside.

After Essex Emma is never really going to be fully at ease in any kind of medical facility again, but the birthing center is homey and comfortable, and the NICU just down the hall. Ororo is there to greet them, and is clearly utterly charmed by Charles. Erik can't blame her, and does his best to squash the unavoidable little flare of jealousy. Charles seems to sense it and takes Erik's hand, squeezing gently as Ororo shows Emma her soothing lavender room and its closetful of monitoring equipment. As far as Erik is concerned, the nicest thing about this place is that the steep price people like Emma pay helps to finance a lot of pro bono work. Her nearest neighbor on the floor is a septuagenarian on a fixed income, furious to find herself pregnant at this time of life, but too Catholic to abort. There's also a very young girl and a woman who is about the right age for this, but very ill and carrying twins. All of them are receiving services free of charge, and Erik gets to know them fairly well as he lurks around Emma's room and signs in and out at all hours to bring Emma ice cream, run her errands, and water the plants. 

Between these tasks he meets Emma's fellow Sunrise inmates, as well as the two husbands, one as elderly as his wife and the other just turning thirty, and the pair of very young grandparents. They all seem a bit shell-shocked, and Erik marvels anew at the feckless resilience of youth to see the girl's junior high boyfriend taking things better than anyone else. Then again, it could just be ignorance. Still, better a stupid kid than a predator, which Erik had been afraid of at first. Erik is exhausted enough looking after Emma without needing to avenge the poor child, and when he says as much Emma laughs and hugs him.

"Oh, Erik. You really are the loveliest man sometimes." She sighs and releases him, still smiling faintly. "But you don't need to worry. It really was young love's fuck up, and her parents are wonderful people."

As usual, Charles would be a divine blessing during all this if Erik didn't hate God. He fetches things for Erik, listens to Emma talk about her weird fucking dreams, and soothes the husbands and advises the boy on how best not to aggravate his de facto in-laws. He is an absolute ray of sunshine in every way, and takes it upon himself to kiss the worried lines off of Erik's forehead any time they appear without other witnesses.

After ten days that feel like several months of guarding Emma, Azazel finally comes back and can take a shift of lurking, watching, waiting, and nervously patting the old man on the shoulder when he starts to panic. Even with the slight feeling of guilt and dereliction of duty, Erik is profoundly relieved to finally drive himself and Charles home. Charles has started keeping some of his things there, and it soothes some deep and barely-conscious need of Erik's. Sometimes that's a sex thing, but now Erik just sighs and takes Charles to bed for an actual nap.

“Am I taking the place of a stuffed animal?” Charles asks, amused.

“Yes,” Erik mutters, his face hidden in Charles's chest, arms locked around his waist. “You're my lamb plushie.”

Charles kisses the top of Erik's head. “Okay.” He nuzzles him and lies quietly beside Erik even though he can't be even half as tired. He''s still there when Erik wakes up, propped up on pillows to read comfortably while keeping Erik's head over his heart. Erik purrs and nuzzles a little, and Charles chuckles. “Feeling better, love?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Charles strokes Erik's hair with his free hand.

“Mm. What are you reading?”

He turns out to be reading something pretty much completely incomprehensible about genetics, and settles Erik's head more comfortably before he begins to read aloud, beautiful voice flowing over someone's theory of spontaneous mutation. Erik remembers Biology 101 and knows what organelles are and that's about as far as it goes, but it doesn't matter at all. He lets the words wash over him and makes quiet, contented noises as Charles runs his fingers through his hair.


	27. Chapter 27

It isn't often that Erik switches. For actual sceneing, anyway. Part of it is his own stupidly ferocious dominance, and some of it is that most of the people he has met who like to be prey _only_ like to be prey. Not Charles, though. He brings it up over breakfast, watching Erik through the steam rising from his tea.

"Erik, darling?" His tone is surprisingly tentative, and Erik studies him for a long moment before answering.

"Yes?" he says, covering his toast in an amount of butter that would make Emma give dire prognostications of his health.

"About the whole cannibalism thing..."

Erik can't help but tense in superstitious dread, remembering the fear in Magda's eyes as she had gathered her things and walked out of his life. It's ridiculous, though, since Charles has loved every bit of their shared madness. "Yes?"

Charles blushes an adorable pink, and looks down into his cup rather than meet Erik's eyes. "I was wondering if you'd mind being the one eaten."

"I haven't done that in a long time," Erik says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'd love to try with you."

After breakfast they take their tea to the couch, where Charles cuddles up under Erik's arm and shyly asks how he'd prefer to do this. "I mean, I have some ideas of my own," he adds with a smile, "but I want to hear yours."

"Well, the last time I was the one being eaten... It's been years, now that I think of it. No knives or anything fun because it was a one-night stand and I didn't know her well enough for that. Still, it was... Nice. She had a thing about spiders," he adds, smiling. "I got to court her for the privilege of being fucked and then devoured."

Charles chuckles. "Sounds like a lovely girl."

"Mm, she was." He kisses the top of Charles's head, nuzzling into his hair. "But yes, that was the last time."

"Well, I don't feel particularly spiderish..."

Erik laughs. "You are a bit adorable for that."

Charles chuckles. "Well. I was thinking that perhaps you could be a hunter and I could be some kind of dangerous thing with a soft pelt that turns the tables and eats you."

"You do have lovely fur," Erik concedes, grinning down at him.

They spend the rest of that day (in between episodes of getting actual productive work done) discussing this fantasy and fine-tuning it. Charles vetoes gunplay, because "It's not as if I don't trust you, Erik, I just think that in the moment it would frighten me in an unsexy way." Erik can't deny being a little disappointed, but it makes him remember Xorn again and be grateful.

"Fair enough," Erik says. "Better that than wanting it to be loaded."

Charles stops in the middle of peeling a potato, both of them up to their elbows in preparing lunch. "Jesus."

"You see why I'm grateful for your sanity and restraint," Erik says.

"Yes. ...Was this the serial killer bloke, by any chance?"

"We had a lot of extremely RACK fun, but he turned out to be a complete asshole." He leans over and kisses Charles softly. "I like you so much better."

Charles laughs, kissing his cheek before pulling away. "Good."

Of course, before Erik can comfortably get to work on an elaborate scene, he has to check on Emma. When one of the nurses leads him in the next morning, Emma is glaring at him. "Erik, you were supposed to go rest and have deviant sex with Charles!"

He bursts out laughing, walking over to the bed where she's propped up on pillows, embroidery hoop propped on her monstrous belly. Azazel is sitting beside her, and working cocoa butter into the exposed lower curve of it because while there's no way to escape stretch marks in a situation like this, Emma is not giving up without a fight.

"Trust me," Erik says, sitting on the edge of the bed, "I'm going to get right back to that."

"See that you do! And then tell me about it, because I'm damned bored in here."

Erik laughs and kisses her cheek, and stays long enough to gossip a little and to promise to bring home-cooked food tomorrow. At last Azazel waves him off for his own good and so Emma can take yet another nap. Erik gives them each a friendly kiss on the cheek and then heads out again. He calls Charles on the way to his car, and gets a bagel order from him, bringing home his own early lunch and Charles's late breakfast. They eat in the kitchen, and work out the last few details of what they'll be doing tonight.

It has been so long since Erik's last switch that he's nervous and keyed up enough to put his work aside and curl up on the couch to watch 'Bringing Up Baby.' It turns out that Charles has never seen it, and cuddling with him and basking in his reaction to all the quick little gags is deeply soothing.

"D'you suppose Cary Grant really was queer?" Charles murmurs, nuzzling the underside of Erik's jaw.

"I think he really did love the ladies, but that he was probably fucking Randolph Scott, too. I mean, I like both." He laughs suddenly, long enough that Charles joins in without knowing why. "Not that I'm in any way representative," Erik finally manages to gasp, setting both of them off again.

"Deranged perverts, the pair of us," Charles agrees, still giggling as Erik skips back over the part they missed.

"Twisted and obscene," Erik purrs, and Charles snickers, nuzzling into the side of his neck as they settle down again, watching their movie and waiting for nightfall. Any scene where one of them chases the other down carries the risk of neighbors calling the police, so they're going to do it with the lights off with and glowsticks and flashlights at floor level. The hunt will go at whatever speed keeps their ankles intact, and will of course finish up in the basement.


	28. Chapter 28

With no light above floor level the house looks mysterious and strange, archways like bent trees and hardwood floors shining like water. Erik prowls along soundlessly, wearing nothing but the ogre's leather loincloth, white-handled knives in his belt. Charles has a wicked little red skinning knife to represent claws and teeth, and Erik shudders at the thought of it. The kitchen is the heart of the house, and so Erik starts there, prowling through the living room. The fireplace is free-standing, and Erik makes his way around it because there's plenty of room for Charles to be lurking against the wall. It's pitch black here, and Erik isn't even breathing as he makes sure that he's alone. He is, and through the whole first floor Erik only finds a single orange peel. It's fresh, a single, perfect strip left behind by his omnivorous prey. Erik chuckles, and then heads up the stairs.

He has no idea where Charles is, and he moves as silently as he can, listening for the faintest creak. There's no sound but the wind outside, rattling the dry leaves and naked branches of the trees. Pausing in the hallway with his back to the wall, Erik glances out the window and into the face of an orange, gibbous moon. It's low enough to silhouette the trees and make them look like grasping, witchlike hands. It reminds Erik that Halloween is coming. He feels his mouth twitch in amusement and he waits for his eyes to readjust before making his way into the bedroom.

The bed is too low for an adult to hide under, and Charles isn't in the closet or the bathroom. The dim, colored light makes everything surreal, and Erik starts to feel as if he's underwater. The quiet moaning of the wind is the only sound as he canvasses the rest of the upstairs. The house has many rooms, but is not itself very large, and before long the only real option is to go back downstairs and then to the basement. Erik is starting to wonder if Charles has given in to the more feline aspect of his nature and fallen asleep in some comfortable hiding place, and pauses at the base of the stairs, looking around again.

Charles is really almost too good at this for his own health, but has the presence of mind to growl as he leaps out of the shadows and onto Erik's back, so Erik can remember that it's Charles and just run a few steps forward rather than planting his feet and ducking forward to hurl him off and into the stone fireplace. His heart pounding with alarm at how clear this vision of really hurting Charles is, Erik takes them to the hard floor as gently as he can (and really, why couldn't Charles pounce him upstairs on the carpet?) and then eels around in Charles's arms, struggling to reach his knife. Charles growls again and bites Erik's throat, trying to keep him pinned while avoiding the blunted bowie knife. Erik feels better with the cool wood at his back, and he knows that Charles won't let him hurt him.

"Mine," Charles snarls, and Erik shudders, a little surprised to realize that he's rock hard, the inside of the loincloth starting to chafe a bit with how wet he is. He whines, crying out softly as Charles runs his tongue from Erik's collarbone to the underside of his jaw. "Tasssty," Charles informs him, and Erik bites his lip to keep back a groan.

Erik swallows hard and takes a deep breath, but he can't keep his voice steady. "A-are you g-going to eat me?"

"Oh yes, pretty thing," Charles says, soft and sibilant, somehow catlike and serpentine at the same time. "Going to eat every bit of you and boil the bones." He nuzzles Erik's cheek, and Erik moans and shakes. "What would you have done with me, hunter? Chopped me up and shared me out, keeping my coat for your own use?"

"Probably," Erik admits, and Charles laughs, undoing Erik's belt and tossing it aside.

"Then it's only fair, isn't it? Mm..." He nuzzles and licks at Erik's chest and then down over his belly as he pulls the loincloth off. "So pretty." Erik blushes at the way his cock twitches at Charles's words, and Charles chuckles, eyes gleaming strangely in the low light, a pair of wolf ears adding to his feral look. "I want to savor this." He wraps one hand around Erik's cock and squeezes gently before just barely letting him feel the razor-sharp tip of the skinning knife against the underside. He doesn't even dare to breathe, and whines pathetically when Charles pulls it away. "Color?" Charles murmurs.

"Yellow-green," Erik admits, and Charles kisses him.

"Come back to my den, so I can eat you properly?" he coos, and Erik shudders, and nods. "Good boy," Charles purrs, and stands up, tucking his knife back into an actual fucking garter. Erik has never really been into drag, but watching the blade slide into place between black lace and Charles's thigh, he realizes anew that such things can change. Charles hops to his feet and then helps Erik up, taking a moment just to press against him and give him a long, grounding kiss, a reminder of reality that Erik needs after all this nervous anticipation and its edge of genuine terror. He moans into it, shuddering as Charles rubs his back for a long moment before murmuring that he's getting hungrier than ever and towing Erik toward the basement stairs.

Emma's plants have again been kidnapped for immoral purposes, and the workroom really does feel like some kind of forest lair, full of the bosky scent of leaves and earth. Charles has arranged Emma's young fruit trees between the block and the door, and has also re-purposed one of the shark god's pools into a nest. He pushes Erik down into the blankets and pillows, wrapping around him from behind and biting his shoulder almost hard enough to draw blood. Erik wails, and gasps, "Green," before Charles can ask, rolling onto his back when Charles pushes him. They probably look ridiculous with Erik's legs hanging over the edge, but it really does feel like he's in the bed of an apex predator, warm and secret and safe.

Charles has lube and condoms tucked into a fold of the blanket, of course, and soon he has Erik slicked and covered, and grins down at him as he straddles his hips. "Going to fill up on you," he says fondly. "And it's going to be delicious." Sinking slowly into the soft and merciless crush of Charles's body and shuddering all over as he trails his knife over Erik's chest in abstract designs that threaten to cut but never do, Erik has to agree.


	29. Chapter 29

Time stretches out for Erik as Charles fucks himself on his cock. He can't really move much, at Charles's utter lack of mercy. Slow, long strokes with wicked little circles at each end have him sobbing by the time Charles stops to smile sweetly down at him and ask if Erik minds if he takes just a little taste of his blood right now.

"Please!" Erik cries, distantly aware of how much the cracked pleading in his voice would embarrass him in any other circumstance. Charles growls, and makes a shallow cut on the left side of Erik's chest, leaning down to run his tongue along it, making Erik groan. He always forgets just how much it hurts, the sliding sting and then the burn, soothed by Charles's tongue. "Oh..." It comes out even weaker and more cracked, and Erik can feel himself flushing all over. Charles rumbles, a low, predatory sound that Erik has never heard from him, and makes a matching cut on the right. Erik whines, clutching at the rim of the pool because Charles put his hands there and hasn't moved them since. Charles purrs and nuzzles at Erik's throat, so light it almost tickles, before biting savagely, making him wail and buck.

There are more cuts and more bites after that, and for Erik everything fades into a red haze. He sobs and whimpers and finally comes, with a high-pitched and piteous mewling noise, shaking under Charles for an eternity before going limp and struggling to open his eyes.

Charles is staring down at him, hungry and intent. "My turn," he purrs, and Erik moans as Charles slides off and crawls up to straddle his neck. "Mine," he growls, stroking himself hard and slow.

"Yours," Erik whispers, trembling, and then closes his eyes again, gasping when Charles grunts softly and then groans, come hitting Erik's face in a warm splash that drips down from his cheek to his lips, making Erik whine. "Oh..."

"So perfect," Charles coos, "so beautiful and such a good boy." He takes Erik's stiff hands off of the rim of the pool, murmuring soothingly as he flexes the fingers and kisses the palms, telling Erik over and over what a good boy he is, how lovely and sweet and delicious. Erik just whimpers and lets Charles cuddle him. It has been a long time since Erik last felt like this, and he just basks in it and doesn't worry about anything because that's the point, damn it. Charles warms and soothes and hydrates him, and Erik is touched at how well his usual prey takes care of him. Of course, Charles can't exactly carry him, so they're stuck in the pool-nest until Erik can stand on still shaky legs and make his way upstairs, leaning on Charles. When they reach the bedroom Charles tucks him in, cuts already covered in clean bandages. Erik sighs and snuggles down, purring when Charles wraps around him from behind.

The next morning Erik wakes up calm and clear-headed and energized. Charles is still there and still asleep, and Erik takes a moment to study him, feeling touched and grateful that he exists. He presses a soft kiss to Charles's forehead, and then gets up and puts on a robe, padding into the kitchen and plotting out the massive lunch he has pledged to bring Emma. Sunrise food is better than hospital food, but so is a kick in the head as far as Erik is concerned.

The soup is simmering nicely by the time Charles comes down the stairs, wearing one of Erik's t-shirts over nothing and rubbing his eyes. Erik shivers, and greets him with a devouring kiss, holding him close as he makes a little whimpering noise and melts into Erik's arms. "Delicious," Erik growls when they have to stop for breath, and Charles giggles, looking slightly drunk.

"Good." He beams up at Erik.

Switching seems to have made Erik feel more predatory than ever, but there's work to be done. He nibbles a bit at the corner of Charles's jaw, and then has to let him go to check on the flatbread. Charles hangs back from the infernal maw of the oven as Erik pokes at the bread, glad to see the crust mostly formed. His pale legs cringing away from the heat make Erik think of branding for the first time in years, and he shivers, shutting the door and straightening up.

"Erik, love..."

"She's expecting us at one." It's already a quarter past twelve, and Charles groans theatrically, flopping into the nearest of the two kitchen chairs.

They leave on time to arrive on time, Charles carrying the bread in one hand and using the other to hold doors for Erik as he carries rest of the food. Their timing turns out to be quite good, since they catch Emma in the middle of one of her daily freakouts and Az is running a personal errand of some kind. Charles sits and does breathing exercises with her, and Erik stoically nibbles on some of the flatbread despite Emma's wealth of medical details. Gross as it all is, he's very glad to find her rapport with Ororo better than ever.

Ororo has done a lot of work with high-order multiples, and is willing to at least try to get a few of the girls out the regular way before the probably inevitable C-section. Emma is pretty damn vain, but she's not vain enough to jeopardize her children just to avoid scarring. Erik sighs, and pats her belly. He is one of the chosen few allowed to do so, and he feels the distinction.

"Maybe they'll hold out long enough to be Halloween babies," Erik says, and Emma smiles.

"That could be fun." Even if they do make it to Halloween, they'll still be really early, and Erik has to admire Emma's courage anew. A knock on the doorjamb makes him look up, and he nods to Ororo.

"Feeling better, dear?" she asks her patient, and Emma nods.

"There's nothing like good food and the heartfelt concern of one's friends." She blinks, and there's a hiccupy little movement in her abdomen. For a single panicked moment Erik thinks that this is it, but no. It's just one of the girls kicking, and he grins.

"They don't have much room to move anymore," Ororo tells him, "but they're being very good neighbors, knock on wood."


	30. Chapter 30

As October winds down to its end, the nights getting longer and colder, Erik spends most of his time at Sunrise with Emma, even when Azazel is in town. She does insist that Erik leave her side to accept Charles's invitation to a Halloween party on the thirtieth, though.

"We'll call you if anything changes, I promise. Go and do something fun, damn you!" She waves him away with a brave and imperious hand, so all Erik can really do is kiss her cheek and promise to have the best time possible. He waits for Azazel to get back from watering the plants, though, and Emma can't hide her gratitude.

Luckily for Erik's sanity, the party isn't that far from Sunrise and they won't be expected to stay late. It's going to be a wholesome affair, with colleagues and students and little children. Erik supposes that's appropriate, since he's a family man these days. Costumes are required, and Erik meets requirements with his orge horns, kumadori-inspired facepaint, and a set of quality vampire teeth. That much in order, he just dresses in black, pulls on a pair of matching driving gloves, and waits for Charles to come get him.

The wait spins out a bit longer than expected, but finally Erik hears Charles's key in the lock. "About time!" he calls, and Charles laughs, meeting him halfway to the door.

"Sorry, my fashion consultant wouldn't let me go."

"Well," Erik says, prowling over to get a good look,"you are definitely the prettiest warlock I've ever seen."

"Raven did say the liner brought out my eyes," Charles answers, grinning up at him. He's carrying a pointed hat under one arm, but it's a dignified pointed hat, with the right amount of brim and the point folded to the side to make doorways navigable. "You're a gorgeous demon. You ready?"

Erik nods, and kisses Charles softly before switching off the last of the lights and leading the way out the door. During the drive, Charles explains that Armando, called Darwin by practically everyone who knows him, is hosting.

"He's living with his grandparents because they're closer to the school, and got their permission to use the house for this while they're out of town."

"Do we have that in writing?" Erik asks, and Charles laughs.

"Darwin is very responsible, and it's not as if we're going to trash the place."

The house itself turns out to be a nice old red brick thing, with jack-o'-lanterns in the windows, and their host greets them at the door with a broad smile. He declares himself delighted to meet Erik, and once they've removed their shoes they follow him into a cozy living room with snacks already in place and furniture pushed against the walls. There are kids engaged in a spirited game of Twister and a black and white horror movie of the 'too old to be scary' type playing in the background. The crowd of milling and lounging adults and nearly-adult teenagers is mostly made up of various students and colleagues of Charles, as well as their significant others, friends, and other plus-ones. After the first round of introductions, Erik settles on a couch while Charles and Hank talk shop, and smiles to see the whole knot of children tip over at last in an apocalypse of fairy wings and witch hats.

"Hi, Mr. Lensherr!" Scott chirps, crawling out of the pile. He's dressed as a bat and has retained his ridiculous glasses, and Erik has to smile, returning his greeting. They discuss costume choices until Alex comes wandering in and stops awkwardly, realizing just who his brother is talking to. Scott rolls his eyes, and waves Alex over. He obeys, looking nervous under his plastic Viking helmet. "Uh. Hi."

"Hi." Maybe it's the mask of demonic black stripes, or maybe it's the earnest discomfort in Alex's entire aspect, but the kid doesn't alarm or anger Erik now. The cheap Thor costume probably helps. "Your trespasses are forgiven."

"Well, that's good," is all Alex can apparently think to say, and Erik has mercy on him and turns the conversation to cars, the first and last topic they had ever had in common. Scott gets bored and wanders off again, and by the time Charles comes looking for Erik, he's in the act of offering Alex some hand-to-hand training.

"Well, what'd you use to bust my head?"

"Krav Maga and adrenaline," Erik says, smiling down at Charles as he lifts Erik's arm and tucks himself in against his side.

"Are you boys bonding?" Charles asks, and Alex laughs.

"I dunno, maybe."

"I promise I'm not using lessons as an excuse to beat you up." Erik pauses. "Well, more than necessary."

Alex just laughs again, and goes to check on Scott. "He is a good kid," Charles says softly, kissing the back of Erik's hand because a kiss anywhere on his face is pretty much guaranteed to smear the paint all over both of them.

"I've noticed," Erik says.

Hours later, he supposes that he's getting old. He mentions it to Charles on the drive home. "Here I am, not drunk at all, not the least bit stoned, and carrying a goddamn bag of candy that I won in a game of fucking _charades_. It's all so wholesome I could vomit, and yet..."

Charles laughs, making a left turn when the green arrow finally lights up. "Well, it doesn't have to _stay_ wholesome," he says, eyes sparkling. 

Erik shivers. "Oh?"

"You're a demon, I'm a warlock. I could easily summon you and then get eaten for my hubris."

"Yes, you could, you wicked boy," Erik growls, grinning with his sharp teeth. He can see Charles's hands tighten on the wheel, and smirks when they speed up just a bit. Soon they're home, and Erik leads the way into the house, setting the candy on the kitchen table and making the little patrol of the place that he probably won't be able to help for at least the next three months. Charles is his understanding self, and sits there in the kitchen eating all the Milky Way bars out of the bag. That's fine, Erik hates them anyway.

"I've got some sidewalk chalk for you to make arcane signs on the floor."

"...Can we do it up here? Or would that hurt the hardwood?"

Erik considers this, looking at the wide and tempting expanse of the floor. "It should be fine."

"Brilliant," Charles says, licking chocolate off his lips.


	31. Chapter 31

Getting into a demonic headspace is pretty easy for Erik. It's a bit like being the ogre, but more... sophisticated. More cruel. They've talked it over, and Charles is going to be afraid and protest a lot. He'll submit at last, though, the way they both prefer it. Erik shivers, picking his way to the center of the elaborate circle Charles has drawn. He's naked except for his horns, his paint, his gloves, and his boots, but he's not cold, thanks to his pounding heart and the warm fire that provides the only light aside from the muted orange glow of the streetlights coming through the blinds. The pale chalk glows a little against the floor, and Erik arranges himself on his knees on the nest of cushions, curling his body forward to hide his face.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Charles speaks from the warm shadows in a language Erik doesn't know. His voice is deep and strong, a command and a summons. Erik may have no idea what the hell he's saying, but the tone is clear enough. He rises up slowly, stretching his arms and rolling his neck.

"Who dares?" he purrs.

"Charles Xavier," Charles says. "I summon and abjure thee, from the deepest reaches of Hell to--"

"I haven't got all day, boy," Erik says, prowling to the very edge of the circle, delicately tracing one sky blue glyph with his toe. Charles glances down, looking nervous.

"Very well, then. I need you to--" He cuts himself off with a shocked yelp as Erik steps onto the circle and smiles. Charles starts to babble in that unknown language again, and Erik grins, prowling up to him as he backs away.

"You know I only speak Infernal and your first language, right?" he asks, grabbing Charles's robe and hauling him into his arms, biting his neck.

"Please!" Charles yelps, and Erik chuckles, biting him again.

"Please what, pretty thing?" He lifts Charles off of his feet and hauls him into the circle.

"Please don't eat me," Charles begs, and struggles feebly as Erik pushes him down onto his back, straddling his hips and slowly opening Charles's black robe. He whimpers and struggles and tosses his head from side to side, whining and begging and desperately flailing as Erik strips him.

"How could I not eat you?" Erik asks. "Such a sweet, pretty boy. And so arrogant. It makes all you silly little magicians taste better." Charles drags in a ragged breath and whimpers in terror, almost writhing out of Erik's grasp. Erik tsks at him and growls demonic gibberish. They've agreed previously on will bondage to depict Erik holding Charles to the floor with demonic magic. Charles gasps and spreads his limbs, keeping his wrists and ankles to the floor as if they're shackled there. Erik chuckles, and presses a kiss to the center of his chest. "There's no way I'm letting you go, sweetness."

"Please..." Charles whines again, tears welling up. Erik bites hard to make him jump and squeal, smirking as he licks the vivid red mark.

"Never."

"Oh god--!" Charles cuts off with a choked noise as Erik bites his collarbone.

"You're going to call on God at this stage of the game? You really are silly." At this Charles actually starts to pray. In English, with a weak and ragged voice full of sobs as Erik gets the robe fully open to sneer at the prosaic briefs beneath. They're an old, dingy pair with elastic that's starting to fail, which means that Erik has advance permission to pull a small folding knife out of one boot and slash through both sides, quick and sure and making Charles's breath stutter in his throat. "Prayers avail you nothing, but your voice is lovely." Charles barely seems to hear him, and Erik wonders if these are Anglican prayers. If they're from childhood, Charles has very good recall. He starts to stammer and repeat himself when Erik bites the crease of his thigh, and says several things that aren't words at all as Erik drags the sharp teeth along the length of his cock, just enough to tickle. "I"m going to take my time with you," Erik says softly, and Charles moans, the sound wavering and broken.

Erik does take his time. First he sucks Charles's cock, drawing him between his fangs and bringing him to the edge over and over. Charles sobs and begs to come, and Erik pulls off at last to stroke Charles's hair and softly ask him for a color.

"Y-yellow? I really need to come," Charles whimpers.

"You will," Erik assures him, and takes a condom from the robe's pocket, rolling it over Charles before slicking him up and straddling him. Charles closes his eyes and just breathes as Erik teases himself on the head of his cock before finally pressing down onto it. Erik groans and sinks down, grinding onto Charles and taking him as deep as he can. "I want to feel it," Erik purrs, "I want to take it all and then use you when you're all loose and helpless before I devour you." Charles keens, shaking. Barely a minute later he surges up into Erik, who rides him through a long and noisy orgasm before grinning down at him. "Delicious."

Charles just mewls helplessly, and lets Erik slide off and remove the condom, setting it down on the circle where they'll have to clean up the chalk anyway. He takes a fresh one from Charles's pocket and rolls it on, sliding lube over the latex before slicking two fingers and pushing into Charles's limp, open body. Charles just moans and shudders all over, drawing his legs up a little to make it easier. Erik grins down at him and bites his throat hard enough that Charles will have to wear high collars for a week, constricting his breath just a bit. Charles whimpers softly, and fingering him open is easy. Soon Erik can slide into him, growling contentedly as he sets up a slow, deep rhythm, biting Charles all over and telling him how delicious he tastes.


	32. Chapter 32

Charles comes again when Erik does, soft cock dribbling just a little as he writhes and groans, fading off into high, weak sounds as Erik rides out the last of his own climax with deep, rough thrusts. He bites Charles's shoulder and then just lies there with him for a long time. Charles wraps around him, magical binding to the floor forgotten. Erik just breathes with him for a while, and then slides his fake fangs out. They're starting to hurt his gums, and he grimaces, easing off of Charles and pressing in against his side. He doesn't want Charles to feel abandoned, but he doesn't want to crush him, either. He sets the teeth beside the first condom and pulls off his current one.

"Don' leave," Charles mumbles, and Erik returns to his former position, hugging Charles tightly.

"Of course not, lamb." Charles shivers happily and burrows in against Erik's chest. Erik pulls the blanket over them and makes them both as comfortable as he can, because he can tell that it's going to take Charles a long time to come back up. He doesn't mind. It's good to lie here in the firelight and hold Charles, rubbing his back and murmuring soft reassurances, telling him that he's sweet and beautiful and perfect and would never be stupid enough to call up a demon he couldn't control. This last gets a soft, watery laugh from Charles, and Erik pulls back a little to smile down at him. "There's my boy," Erik murmurs, and Charles blushes, looking so young and vulnerable and cute that Erik almost wants to eat him all over again.

They stay on the floor for what feels like a contented eternity, but when Erik gets up to start cleaning it's not even midnight. "My god," Charles says, an adorable bundle of blanket, "we really are getting old."

"Geriatric perverts," Erik sighs, feeling stupidly happy at the way that makes Charles laugh. He quickly scrubs the paint off of his face, so that he can rejoin Charles and give him very un-demonic kisses without making a mess. Their floor nest is actually quite comfortable, and once Erik is done cleaning he sprawls there covering Charles in soft kisses and telling him all over again how amazing he is. Charles just coos and melts into his arms, soaking it up. By the time he can bring himself to carry Charles off to bed it's almost two in the morning. Erik will have to finish scrubbing the chalk off the floor and launder the bright residue from the blankets, but those are tasks for later. Now he wraps himself around Charles and hugs him tightly, drifting slowly down toward sleep.

The ringing phone wakes Erik up, the land line by the bed that he only gives out to people who might actually need to reach him at three-fifteen in the morning. He reaches over and snags the receiver before his eyes are properly open. "Emma?"

"We think it might be time," Azazel says, and it wakes Erik up about as effectively as five gallons of ice water.

"I'll be right there," he says, and hangs up.

"We'll be right there," Charles says, sitting up beside Erik. "...I mean, unless you don't want me."

"It's Emma's show, Charles, but I would be glad of your company." It's one of the greatest understatements of Erik's life, and Charles scrambles into his clothes as Erik does the same, filling two portable mugs with instant coffee on his way out the door. The roads are nearly empty, since it's a weeknight and not actually Halloween, and Erik speeds where he can and crawls past speed traps where he can't, getting them to Sunrise in record time.

Erik knows for sure that he's part of Emma's birth plan, but Charles is relegated to the waiting room until he gets actual permission. Erik kisses him without caring about the watching nurse, and then gowns up and goes into Emma's room, where she's kneeling on her bed, connected to what seems like dozens of monitors. Azazel is standing by her, but also has the faintly worried look he gets when things are getting emotional. 

Emma's pinched face relaxes for a moment into a smile. "Erik. Glad you could make it."

"Of course I could make it," he grumbles, taking her hand and squeezing it. "Hell, Charles came too."

Emma laughs, and then winces. "Well, three might be a bit of a crowd, but he can come in after."

A nurse goes to tell Charles this and to hopefully get him some more coffee and a reasonably current issue of _National Geographic_ , and Erik settles in to wait, Moira checking the monitors and Ororo talking Emma through it. She's also assuring Emma that yes, she has made a full thirty-three weeks and that the girls will probably only need a little oxygen.

"They're little," she says, "but strong. Moira?"

"No need for a C-section yet," she says, not looking away from the monitors. "Everyone has oxygen and a good heartbeat." Emma just nods and grits her teeth. She looks fierce and focused and Erik suddenly loves her so much that it hurts. 

It could be anywhere from half an hour to forever before Ororo suddenly croons, "Here's our eldest sister," and Emma laughs in triumph when the tiny creature squalls.

"I've never seen anything like this," Moira mutters, as a second one follows. "It's like they're helping each other out." Sure enough, the last three come within seconds of each other. They're _tiny_ , the smallest babies Erik has ever seen, but developed and pink and strong. Ororo and Moira look thrilled, and so do the assisting nurses. "This is insane," Moira mutters as the cleaned and wrapped babies are passed to Emma, "not one of them weighs more than a pound, but they're _fine_."

Erik sticks around long enough to make sure this is true, and then goes out to check on Charles. He looks very calm, sitting on the bench and reading an issue of _Time_ which is at least from the past year, but the expectant way his head snaps up tells Erik everything.

"Five tiny but healthy little Emmaclones," he says, and Charles grins from ear to ear. Emma being Emma, she throws Azazel out to wait with them while a few more tests are done and all five of the placentas are dealt with. Erik supposes he can't blame her for wanting to make that a women-only event, and at last they can return to find everyone comfortably arranged. Emma is covered in babies, glowing with love and relief and pure smugness. Two of the little creatures have nasal cannulas after all, but they're all still pink and everything is lovely and calm, the lights dimmed and five tiny bassinets wheeled up beside the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular birth is ludicrously easy for what it is, but that's because Mr. Sinister built his clones to develop faster, knowing that high-order multiples always come early.


	33. Chapter 33

It is only now, with five tiny infants in line for kangaroo care, that Erik realizes that Charles will discover the darkest of his secrets: Erik loves babies. Their new-baby smell, their indescribably tiny little hands, the warm weight of them and the beating of their little birdlike hearts, everything about them. He doesn't even really mind changing diapers, which is all to the greater good because this is a goddamn litter. Emma smacks him on the arm the first time he says so, but on the fourth day after birth, when all five of them are squalling to be fed, she has to concede that it's true.

Since Erik has been given what are very nearly paternal rights, he spends a lot of his time in Emma's room, just resting with a baby on each pectoral muscle. They're growing with incredible rapidity, but it hasn't even been a week yet, so they're still so tiny it's hard to believe. Their skin is practically transparent, but Moira says they're more like full-term infants than preemies. They're healthy enough to support a lot of tests, which Emma authorizes due to the strange and dreadful circumstances of their conception.

"I'm still suing him if everything comes up clear," Emma says, soothing Sophie and Esme, both of whom are still making little complaining noises from having blood drawn, "but I'll feel much better."

"Of course," Erik murmurs, not wanting to alarm Irma and Celeste where they're resting over his heart, or to wake Phoebe, asleep in her bassinet. All five names were on Emma's list of possibilities, and even this early Erik thinks they suit the girls. They're still not over this embarrassment of riches, all the babies here and healthy and Emma healing well.

The other Sunrise patients are doing well, too. Two days before the girls had arrived the teenager had brought a daughter of her own into the world. She had come nearly full-term, but sickly, and the joy of the first few days of the quintuplets's lives is doubled by the girl's rapid improvement. The twins arrive soon after, in need of a bit of oxygen and a few drugs while their mother's life is touch-and-go for a while. Seeing her stable and improving is almost as good as watching all the babies get fatter and happier. Meanwhile, the old lady demonstrates the pluck of the war baby generation, and tolerates her planned C-section very well, chiding her ten-pound son for being so fat and having such bad timing, voice full of love.

Charles and Azazel are in and out of this house of joy all the time, cooing over the babies and talking to the set of possible adoptive parents for the baby boy and taking a few boxes of Emma's stuff at a time, because she'll be home soon. In between long hours just talking to Emma and helping with the babies, Erik arranges Emma's nursery. She's already looking for houses, knowing that even her large apartment doesn't really have enough room for six people. For now, though, five cribs fit into the nursery, and five mobiles hang above them, gleaming in the low autumn sunlight.

Erik is a perfectionist, but even he has to admit that the nursery is done by the time Emma and the girls are ready to come home. Charles laughs at him for adjusting the mobiles one last time, but it's a sweet sound, with no real mockery in it.

"Erik, darling. The place is beyond lovely and Emma is waiting. Come on." Erik takes a last look around, but goes to join Charles. They're going to be forming a convoy, since it's going to take two cars to manage all Emma's stuff as well as the babies and their car seats. Even with the small, slimline ones Emma has bought and obsessively tested, they take up a lot of room. Emma agonizes over not being able to be in two cars at once, but the girls seem to like Charles, and Emma feels better to see them well strapped in and calm in his company. Ororo rides in the back with Phoebe and Sophie, and in Erik's car Emma settles into the back as well, murmuring soothingly to Celeste and Irma and Esme about how they'll be home soon and see their sisters again. Erik drives more carefully than he ever has in his life, and he catches glimpses in the rear-view mirror of Charles doing the same.

It seems to take a thousand years, but at last they have everyone home, the girls settled into their cribs and Emma's things re-shelved. Ororo stays long enough to ensure that Emma and the babies are comfortable and to then have a celebratory glass of all-natural sparkling strawberry lemonade. There's no way Emma can produce enough milk for five babies, but she gives everyone as much as she can manage, making up for the resource gap with the best formula money can buy and maintaining her drug-free ways. On her way out the door to her waiting cab, Ororo smiles and gives Emma a hug, something that few people are allowed to do.

"Take care of yourself. I don't need to tell you to take care of the girls."

This statement turns out to be prophetic, and Erik moves in for the first two weeks to bully Emma into sleeping and feeding herself in between feeding and changing and adoring the twins. Azazel vanishes, because while he's happy for Emma, he has no real interest in or aptitude for infant care. Charles does, though, and there's a kind of prepubescent slumber party feel to it. Erik is feeling too tired and too focused on the babies to feel particularly lustful, Emma will probably have no interest for the next four to six months, and Charles is soon sleep-deprived into feeling the same, the two of them curling up in the guest bed or the nursery floor, depending on their mood. The level of sexual energy in the apartment is so low as to probably be unmeasurable by even the most sophisticated instruments, and Erik is elated and terrified and soothed at how much he enjoys Charles's physical presence anyway. For a few nights the three of them share Emma's huge bed, Erik in the middle as a buffer and everyone dressed in actual sleepwear. It's a good feeling, having someone he loves on either side of him.


	34. Epilogue

Erik tucks fake fur over the block, humming softly. Thanks to the power of imagination, the massive pallet of the most boring boxes in the house resting beside the door won't take them out of their scene. Ugly as it is, the pallet must remain. It's heavy but a strong adult can drag it after them to block the door. The girls have the run of the house and have already picked the workroom lock like the devious brats they are, but they're still too little to push the pallet back and realize that the room isn't actually stuffed full of boxes of old tax documents and other things of absolutely no interest. Erik isn't sure what he'll do when they inevitably _do_ get in here, but at least with Emma Frost as their mother an honest answer won't get him in trouble. It feels like tempting fate to do this when they're actually here, but he wants to surprise Charles. Elaborate scenes are so much rarer for a pair of aging family men. Besides, Charles is reading to the girls, one of the few things that can actually be trusted to keep them utterly spellbound. Erik isn't sure how much of it is their lifelong affinity for Charles at work, and how much is his willingness to read ten books in a sitting, merrily doing the voices all the way.

Once Erik has the fur over the block and three of his red knives neatly arranged and both their costume pieces laid out on the cot, he squeezes out past the pallet and hauls it after him, the tower of boxes swaying slightly and then settling again as he shuts the door and locks it. He washes his hands in the adjacent bathroom, glad not to have gotten any splinters this time, and then heads upstairs, following the muffled murmur of Charles's voice into the living room to witness a charming tableau. The girls bracket Charles on the couch, Celeste and Esme each half in his lap, allowing the others to crowd close enough to see the pictures. There's actually a complex set rotation for which girls get the best seats right by the book, and while Erik can't keep track of it, they can and it seems to have put a complete stop to their arguments. On this matter, anyway.

" _But the wild things cried,_ " Charles reads, and then switches to a deep, growly voice, " _"Oh please don't go—we'll eat you up—we love you so!'_ He glances up and sees Erik, and smiles at him. " _And Max said, "No!"_ ," Charles continues, and Max leaves his poor wild things bereft the way he always does. Celeste voices that very concern, and Charles strokes her hair. "Max is really too young to be king," he says. "He needs to be at home with his mother to take care of him." Celeste makes a face, and Charles chuckles. "It's not as if he couldn't go back later." The story done and their spirits soothed, all five of them jump up to greet Erik and to demand that he cook them lunch because everything Charles makes tastes funny.

"Now, now," Erik says, "you just can't appreciate how special Charles's cooking really is." Behind the children's backs, Charles sticks his tongue out at Erik, who just grins at him. The girls follow Erik into the kitchen, reminding him of a flower garden. They're differentiating as they grow, Irma's hair curling into ringlets and Sophie's developing a gentle wave, but they're all still the same shade of pale gold, like sunlight with their petal-colored outfits. Emma dresses them generally alike but in different colors. Today it's overall-styled denim jumpers over white t-shirts, and everyone has a different animal embroidered on her bib.

Sophie demands soup, and he puts all five of them to work. They're too young for much in the way of knives and fire, but Celeste can be trusted to the stir the roux while Irma peels the the carrots and Sophie washes all the vegetables. Phoebe beats an egg for dumplings, and Esme carefully scoops up and levels off the baking powder, using the color-coded plastic measuring spoons Erik has had for at least a year now. He's glad the girls like chicken and dumplings, since it lets him divide the labor like this. Charles is fond of it too, which is a bonus.

Emma shows up right on time, her daughters swarming her as she shuts the front door. She greets them each in turn, and compliments them on how prettily they've set the table. Being so absolutely their mother's children, the girls aren't as spill-prone as the average five-year-old, and cleaning up after making sure all toys, coats, and mittens have been found and conveyed with the girls into he sleek little minivan Emma has been forced to buy is easy. As always after the girls depart, the house suddenly seems impossibly quiet. Charles finishes shelving the picture books and stretches his back, jumping and making a faint squeaking noise when Erik sneaks up and hugs him from behind, breathing in his scent and loving the silence.

"I think you should come downstairs with me," he murmurs, biting Charles's ear.

"I think you're right," Charles gasps, and then shudders and clings to Erik's shoulders as Erik gathers him up into his arms. They're going to have to stop doing this someday, and so Erik savors every moment he can carry Charles. Now he takes him downstairs and sets him on his feet again to haul the pallet aside. "I should have known," Charles says, voice full of affection as he takes in the fur on the block and everything else, detailed from a vivid and almost feverish wet dream a few weeks ago.

"You just seemed to like that 'sacrifice and high priest' thing so much I thought we should do it right," Erik purrs, and Charles steps into his arms again, nuzzling his neck.

"Of course you did." He sighs and rubs against Erik, half hard already. "Mm. You'll cut me up and drink me down, you love me so."

Erik spends the rest of the evening showing Charles just how true that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurice Sendak's words in italics, of course.
> 
> Also, in America 'jumpers' are dresses that go over some kind of shirt or blouse, for any confused readers abroad.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [mekare | [art] X-Men cuddle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582436) by [mekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mekare/pseuds/mekare)




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